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Gwen Stacy Syndrome

By: Zev95



A/N: Betaed by Spring, Nomani, and Sonia. If you have an idea for a story you'd like me to write, send me a PM.

*

"I need your help." Four little words. The only reason they nearly stopped Peter's heart was that they came from Mary Jane Watson, the woman he'd almost married.

He was about to go on patrol with the Human Torch when he got the text. A cold sweat gripping him, he sent a text to Johnny telling him to go without him (he was pretty sure the patrol was just an excuse for Torch to drag him along to a new nightclub anyway). Then he remembered to text MJ back.

Where RU?

On my way.

Peter threw his clothes back on over his costume and instinctively looked to see if he had any web-cartridges to hide before remembering, oh yeah, he didn't have to hide things from MJ.

She came through his door like a hurricane. It'd been days, weeks, since they'd seen each other last—MJ wanting him to drive her home from her play after she threw up between acts. She'd recovered, and as always, she took his breath away. Living with her, he'd somehow managed to stop wondering what a girl like that could ever see in a guy like him, but with their relationship at on-again, off-again, again, it took him back every time he saw how gorgeous she was.

Took him back to college, in fact, remembering the tight mini dresses, the make-up that didn't even try to look natural. She'd been a predator back then. Now, she saved that for the clubs and the afterparties, and tended to dress—elegant.

He'd always thought the people who thought of her as trashy or gauche were crazy, but she'd grown into a kind of glamour, grown better with maturity like a fine wine. The beach waves hairstyle, the London Fog coat over a purple dress that a pin-up might've worn, even the go-go boots (Peter was sure they weren't called that). He didn't know what half of them were exactly, but like a master painter's art, all the different techniques and elements came together to form a masterpiece.

Now, if only he could say that without feeling like a complete idiot.

Entrance made, Mary Jane slipped off her vintage Ray-bans to look around his place. Most of it was Ock's stuff, boxed up and ready for a one-way trip to Goodwill. Peter would never judge another nerd's fandoms, but—so much My Little Pony merch. So much.

He was keeping the 4K TV, though. He'd take it in lieu of Otto paying rent for his body.

"Nice telly," Mary Jane said, taking off her coat. Her dress was—yes. Good dress. "Gave away your superstrength when you had to haul that thing up the stairs?"

"One advantage of having a foreign exchange program with Doc Ock's brain—he has good taste in electronics. So what's up? Stalker? Creep boyfriend? Something else that can be solved with copious application of webbing?"

Mary Jane sprawled on his couch, which Peter had gone to great trouble to get back from the junkyard after Ock had tossed it out. "Beating up your ex's current? Isn't that the kind of thing that could give away your spider-secret?"

"I'd send Daredevil or someone in my place. Keep it on the down low."

"Oh, you're delegating jerk boyfriend duties. Smart."

He caught her sarcasm. "Not boyfriend problems then."

"Just the one." She gave him a look. "Guess again? It's really interesting how you view my life."

"Uh, I said stalker already, right? Another stalker?"

"Peter, I've only had four."

He sat down beside her, protectively inclined against the armrest on her far side. "'Only'."

"Yes, only. Count yourself lucky I've never been on one of Joss Whedon's shows. Alyson Hannigan has about three hundred. They have a tumblr they all go to. 'Fuck Yeah Stalking Willow.'"

"Jealousy, Watson? Of a sitcom actress?"

MJ harrumphed. She'd been in Lobsterman. "Actually, I've been muling drugs for a cartel and it's gotten me in a bit of trouble."

He pointed a finger at her, half-grinning. God, it was so easy not being serious with her. "Now you're joking."

"Oh, you don't think I could be a drug mule? I'm hurt."

"No, you could do it, but you're a smart lady. You wouldn't get in over your head."

"Aww." She patted his arm. "So sweet. No, I do not need the footie pajamas on this one."

"It's a uniform," Peter protested, sputtering a little. "Captain America has called it a uniform."

"Mmmhmm, this is seeming like a dumb question, but you're still a huge nerd, right?"

Peter scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "Well, I don't play Minecraft, watch My Little Pony, or own a Playstation 4, so now I'm only a medium nerd."

"You have an X-Box One."

"Ock got it. He's evil, so..."

MJ regarded the TV. "X-Box, power on, go to Call of Heroes: Soulfire, load gamer profile Notplan87, and continue from last save point."

"Whoa," Peter said, watching the console shoot through her commands. "It did exactly what you told it to."

"Yeah, it's almost like having a boyfriend again." She smiled at him. "Yes, I'm single. Hard to believe, right?"

"Very."

Mary Jane got up to go to the console and—Peter was a gentleman—but he was at least aware that she bent down to get the controller rather than crouching. "Hate to be a stereotype, Petey, but while I can do five Ophelia monologues from memory, I just cannot kill the fucking Dark Lord of Dorkonshire."

"With the flame attacks?"

Straightening up, she tossed him the controller. "Yeah. The computer is a dirty, filthy cheater, and I want you to teach it a lesson for me. You've beaten Ultron, so this should be easy." MJ faced the console. "You hear that, you little AI bitch? This motherfucker here eats Sentinels for breakfast. He's gonna kick your ass and get an Achievement for doing it."

"And this is—" Peter hit pause as MJ's game finished loading. "This is what you needed help with?"

"Well, yeah. I could also use help getting my life together and not being a travesty in general, but I think this'll do me for the afternoon."

"Okaaay." Peter unpaused the game, then went to the inventory screen to check what was equipped and MJ's (or, Princess Bonafina, as she'd dubbed herself) stats. "Did you equip the Sword of Unus?"

"Yes, I'm not an idiot."

"Alright. Auto-aiming off?"

"Not a noob either."

"Wow, you put a lot of points into Charisma."

MJ crossed her arms proudly. "Yeah, and I got the Shah of Kamal to kill the Warlord Tyran for me instead of having to fight both of them."

"You know, if you go stealth route..."

"We're not going stealth route like a band of bastard pussies. We're killing the Dark Lord of Dorkonshire in a fair fight."

"Fair except for handing the controller to a guy with the proportionate speed and reflexes of a spider?"

Mary Jane grabbed his face in both hands and forced him to look her in the eyes. "There's an unskippable cutscene before the boss fight. I owe this game nothing."

God, she's beautiful, Peter thought, then frantically hoped he hadn't said that aloud. He coughed. "Okay, cool. Yes. Cool. Let's, uhh—let's go on a quick side-quest. This mission is a lot easier if you have some magic arrows in your quiver."

Mary Jane cuddled up to him—that instinctual seeking of togetherness that had used to drive him crazy. She did it at coffee shops and burger joints, stealing fries from people she'd just met, like that much skin pressing together could ever be platonic. But it was something he loved about her. She really was fearless.

"Put some magic arrows in my quiver, tiger," she pleaded, giving him the puppy dog eyes.

Do not get an erection, Peter told himself firmly.

He concentrated on the game. MJ had put together a good character: well-balanced, with a nice set of combos, and he had to say, remarkable fashion sense for a bunch of polygons. His own +5 Helm of Slaying always seemed to clash with his Poison-Resistant Gauntlets. He tried out a few of her finishing moves on some of the lowly Russian mercs, disemboweling them with gusto.

"How'd you do that?" MJ asked.

"It's just A-B-A-B-X-Y."

"No, I mean, how could you do that? What if that guy had a family? They won't even be able to have an open-casket funeral now."

"That? That's nothing. Watch this: B-X-X-Y-Y..."

Mary Jane covered her eyes with her hands. "Oh no!" she cried, but with good-natured horror. "If he has to die, let it be clean and painless!"

"That jerk, he deserved it. He texted during movies."

MJ linked her arm around Peter's, making him adjust his stance to keep working the control pad. "That really is a great TV. And I'm assuming the TV is all you're keeping from your little... Ocktoberfest."

"Oh, yeah. Breaking a lot of appointments. Last few weeks, I've had more hookers knocking on my door than Jehovah's Witnesses. Keep telling them that I've started following the Kabbalah and I can't pay for sex anymore. I think I've disrupted the economy of New York's Asian-American community."

"Kabbalah," Mary Jane muttered. "And no... surprises?"

"Nah, Reed Richards gave me the all-clear. For all his sins, Ock was a big believer in safe sex. I still have a closet half-full of condoms."

"Good to know."

In a few minutes of speed-run, skipping the dialogue with half a dozen townspeople, Peter was getting the magic arrows from the Qquo'ran Priestess. She was wearing one of those outfits that made Peter ashamed to be a gamer (when a woman was in the room).

Mary Jane broke the tension. "I think I saw Emma Frost in that the other day..."

"So you're not wearing that for Halloween?" Peter asked, looking to MJ as he skipped through the conversation. Unfortunately, he'd just hit a dialogue tree, and the response he selected was Smooth. Too smooth. Tony Stark smooth. The priestess took off her clothes, which only took a half-second.

"So, uh," Peter said with a suddenly dry mouth. "That was an accident."

"Maybe," Mary Jane said , his almost-wife, the almost-mother of his children, a million almosts and a thousand realities, "they have the right idea."

She kissed him. And the awkwardness, the haze of wrongness, the discomfort he'd felt in his own skin—all the shit that had been piled up in his life since he got it back—it was all gone. This was real. This was right. He'd still been mostly dead, but she brought him back, defibrillators to the heart, a shot of adrenaline, transfusions, transplants, all that and more.

That's why it was a temptation.

"Was that weird for you?" Mary Jane asked when it was over, her head tilted against his like she was iron drawn to a magnet. "It wasn't weird for me." She giggled. "God, that felt so... normal. Not bad, indie-film normal. Good-normal. Happy-normal."

"I can't," Peter said quickly. "We can't."

"Peter, I'm being serious. This isn't a party. It isn't a one-night stand. It's what I want. I love you."

He just shook his head. "How?"

"Pete, you ever feel like the Fates or God, whoever's writing our story—they need an editor, because this shit is demanding a rewrite? And when you forget what you were going to say, it's the author backspacing? No, never mind, forget that. I don't think we ever should have broken up. I want to get back together."

His head just shook and shook, like clockwork. "It's not that I don't care about you, it's not that there's something wrong—I'm just not good for you. For God's sake, MJ, look at the boxes." He rapped his knuckles on a nearby hunk of cardboard. "I had Doctor Octopus in my head for months. Imagine if you'd been living with me. If you'd found out. He could've done anything to you..."

"Or I could have gone to our friends and gotten you help that much sooner. You can't do this alone, Peter. You know that. You have teammates, you have friends—why is your heart any different?"

"Because I can't lose you. Not like I lost Gwen."

Mary Jane worked in pictures. She could tolerate bullshit. But only so much. "Oh, but you can lose Carlie Cooper? Actually, that'd be okay..."

"I'm serious, MJ. I won't let you into my life when my responsibilities are so dangerous, any more than I'd let you get behind the wheel of a car when you'd had too many drinks."

MJ stood. On the TV, the love scene continued. Her body blocked it from Peter's view. "Oh, so you're sober and I'm intoxicated? Is that how this relationship—our friendship—works? You know best and I just do as you say, everything's peachy?"

"It's not like that... you don't know the risks like I do..."

"Don't know the risks? Go back five years, find me every night you went out there, and tell your fiancé that she doesn't know the risks. Because that was all I could think about. Whether you were getting killed by a Spider-Slayer or the Scorpion or Venom or just some lucky goddamn asshole with a gun." She scooped up her coat from the back of the couch. "I can't talk to you when you think you're being noble. I'd almost prefer you with Carlie to thinking you're the only person in the world who—forget it."

She stormed out. On the TV, the minigame was over. Peter hadn't responded to any of the button prompts. The lovemaking was a pitiful failure.

Face it, tiger, you just got two bars and a lemon.

***

Maybe it was immature. Maybe it was trashy, even. But Mary Jane's prescription for jerk boyfriends, no matter what their vintage, was to hit a club, take more shots than a firing range, and masturbate to an early Christian Bale movie.

Fists was technically a nightclub for bisexuals, but eh, MJ had done enough photoshoots writhing with Brooklyn Decker that she thought she should get credit. The inside of the place was as misty as Silent Hill, but with more laser lights, rap rock, and surely, even in Hell the drinks didn't cost this much. She ordered her special from the cutest barkeep—one part bourbon, one part triple sec, and one part Jägermeister. The Redhead, with an exotically herbal aftertaste from the Jäger that was all Watson.

"That looks good," Felicia Hardy herself said, coming out of the haze of various smoke. Mary Jane just stared at her as she leaned against the bar, enchanting the bartender with a look. "I'll have the same."

"It's an acquired taste," Mary Jane warned.

"I was talking about your ass. This," she gestured to the bartender's mixing, "looks like shit. But, sisterly solidarity."

MJ looked Felicia over. Whatever restraint she'd practiced in the past had fallen prey to the Y2K virus. Her Maple Leafs T-shirt was tight with a V-neck that had seen a scissor, her leopard-print skirt was short, and her breasts seemed to have gotten larger. Or maybe Mary Jane was just better at noticing them since her time with Brooklyn.

Felicia took her drink, toasted MJ (or possibly her rack, it was hard to tell), and sent it down the hatch. She blew appreciative air out of her black-lacquered lips. "I take it back. You're a woman of good taste."

"Still talking about my ass?"

"God, no. Cats are tidy creatures. But if you were to turn around just..." With her foot, Felicia shifted the stool MJ was sitting on. "One-hundred-and-eighty degrees..."

"Not that drunk, Hardy."

"I'll start us a tab, then." As Felicia conveyed that in barhopper sign language, she eyed MJ in turn. Saw her hand on her drink. Bored into her ring finger. "Oh, I see. My favorite redhead has a case of the Peter Parker blues."

"I'm your favorite redhead?" Mary Jane said with a hand on her heart, mock-touched.

"Jean Gray died. Come on, girlfriend. I'm not the only one who noticed his Facebook status reads Single, and neither of us wants him on Carlie Cooper's arm." Felicia gave a disgusted shudder.

"She's not that bad."

"She once tweeted that she didn't see why the Holocaust was a 'huge deal'."

"Okay, she's awful."

"Now you—" Felicia leaned forward, her slit neckline cutting down to her black bra and its infamous prisoners. "You, I would not mind seeing Peter with. You're awesome. Smart, funny, nice ass, good head on your shoulders... you're even a halfway decent actress."

"Thanks."

"We're like two kung-fu guys. It's an honor to lose to you, sister. But this Carlie Cooper slash Peter-being-alone-with-his-pain shit, that's like the guy who brings a gun to a wire-fu fight. No honor."

Mary Jane raised her glass. "Preach. And honestly, that whole thing with Carlie 'belongs' with Peter because they're both smart—that's, like, racist."

"I know you didn't mean to say that, but I know exactly what you mean. Hotass bartender guy, we need more drinks! Make it a Peter Parker this time."

"Peter Parker?" MJ asked.

"Two parts Campari, one part vermouth Cinzano rosso, and one part pinot Chardonnay Cinzano. Build it in a double rocks glass with ice, garnish with a slice of lime. Discovered it when I messed up a Negroni. Looks sweet and fruity, tastes bitter as fuck."

"Now you're being mean."

"Is it mean when it's my favorite drink?" The order arrived. Felicia slid it over to MJ. "Try it."

Mary Jane hit it. Not a drink she'd want named after her, but very... arachnid. A little heroic, even. "I take it I'm not the only one with the Peter Parker blues?"

"Oh, no, sweetie. The man has left a trail of broken hearts behind him. You should try being Chameleon's sob sister."

"Chameleon?"

"One-way thing. Let me ask you this, red." Felicia laid a hand on Mary Jane's knee—the touch bold and understated at the same time. The message clear: Felicia was willing to seduce her. Only MJ didn't know if she was willing to be seduced.

It would be fun to go home with someone, but this close to the thing (the nebulous, sinister thing) with Peter, it would feel like cheating. But did that count if it was another woman? Not being a lesbian, how far would it even go? Some kissing, some foreplay, big spoon-little spoon? MJ could use some of that. Just being touched...

Felicia went on, watching the thoughts roll around Mary Jane's face like a tennis ball at a match. "Have you read The Phoenix Principle by Emma Frost?"

"Can't say that I have," MJ replied, leaving Felicia's hand right where it was.

"It's a magnificent treatise. The idea is that there's only one real philosophy in life. Only one way to be happy. Figure out what you want and go for it head-on. And I want Peter Parker. I want other people, sure, but them, I just want to fuck. Peter... I want all of him." Mary Jane laughed, her Redhead working its magic. "I'm serious. I want to have his children and read books with him by the fire and join the Avengers with him. It's an important realization."

"You're in love with Peter. That's your big, uh, revelation?"

"I didn't believe in love until two weeks ago. Then I realized, hey, maybe it's not bullshit that I feel happy when I'm with this guy, sad when I'm away from him, happy when I'm thinking about him." Felicia threw her hands up, nearly spilling her Peter Parker. "What the fuck are you gonna do?" She sucked on her straw.

"So you're in love with Peter—" Mary Jane said, a little distant.

"Yes. And he's single; also not possessed by a fat Germanic scientist anymore. I work out a little, squeeze into the old costume, foil a few muggings while I look for him. Boom. I find him on a rooftop. He has his back to me. His ass looks—you know how his ass looks."

"I nearly married that ass," MJ said between drinks.

"He's just standing there, staring at a bridge—"

"Oh no..."

"I go up to him, hit him with some bon mots—I have my zipper down to my belly button—I'm practically letting him be my ob/gyn."

"Oh no..."

"What? Have you been spoiled for this story?" Felicia jolted forward, her hand sliding up MJ's leg. "Did he tell you about this?"



Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 02



They took their lovemaking to the bedroom. After fifteen minutes, it was clearly the only furniture in the apartment that could handle them. The mattress was bumpy, the springs squeaked like hungry kittens, and the sheets, clean as they were, itched. No wonder Peter slept in pajamas; Tony Stark birthday present. With accompanying slippers. 

But Mary Jane didn't mind. Not with Felicia on top of her, wearing nothing more than boots, gloves, strap-on, and smile. God, her breasts nearly blocked MJ's view of her face. How big were they? Mary Jane's bra was 34C, 36C—it varied with American sizing being such a clusterfuck. But for a fashion model, they were practically udders. And Felicia made her look like she hadn't hit puberty. F-cups, they just had to be... big, big breasts of creamy white skin that demanded a grope, a taste... Good God, how had Mary Jane ever ignored them? 

Felicia wasn't immune to Mary Jane's charms either, naked underneath her save for the top of her borrowed Spider-Man costume, rolled up to her armpits so it only covered her collarbones and her arms. Not even gloves to hide that wonderful manicure of hers, which was now embedded in Felicia's hips. No, Felicia wasn't at all ignorant of the sight before her, Mary Jane's trim body and bountiful breasts shaking, throbbing, undulating with pleasure and the anticipation of more pleasure. 

But at the moment, Felicia was mostly focused on the dildo she was fucking into MJ's body. 

Gaining even a little ground with it was a painstaking process, given its size. And Mary Jane was unbelievably tight for a woman who'd been dating Peter Parker. Felicia was not ashamed of the fact that she could take the Rhino, if he played his cards right, but she did enjoy a challenge. 

Ten strokes just to work the bulbous head inside Mary Jane, a reward of moans that were delicate as snowflakes. Felicia had to play the long game. You wouldn't think it, given her love of drinking, one-night stands, and vigilante heists, but Felicia could be very patient. She waited so that when she was impulsive, she wouldn't have to be even more patient behind bars. 

But both women enjoyed it, even with its difficulty. It took what seemed like hours, with Mary Jane desperately impatient for Felicia to just fuck her, but the massive strap-on slid inside. It didn't even hurt. Mary Jane sighed as much in relief as pleasure. She'd never felt this thing before; in front of Peter, all they'd done was fingers and lips. More than enough, but this was much, much more than enough. MJ guessed she was just a little too used to being a straight girl to ever turn up her nose at good old-fashioned P-in-V sex. But with her new take on double dating, she wouldn't have to. 

Not that she had any complaints about lesbianism, either. She rewarded Felicia for her patience with an eager kiss, her hips bucking, fighting to take the prodigious strap-on deeper and deeper inside. And it went, seemingly endless in its penetration. Until Mary Jane knew she had taken it all. And with one last kiss and ten solid strokes, she'd taken enough for a howler of an orgasm. 

No words were exchanged as Felicia held the dildo deep, deep inside Mary Jane, letting her tighten with pleasure around it. There was no need. It was obvious from the look on Mary Jane's face and the distinctly wordless sounds coming from her mouth. 

In all the excitement, neither of them realized that the webbing holding Peter in the other room had dissipated. 

Felicia withdrew from Mary Jane, each slickened inch widening her Cheshire-cat smile. She took a vial of self-heating lotion from her boot—Felicia always kept the essentials on her person—and gave MJ some afterplay, massaging the lotion gently, oh so gently, into the pussy she's asked so much of. Mary Jane cooed and sighed, enjoying the warm bath of her genitals. 

"Shall we go again?" Felicia asked, quite enjoying the way a lock of hair fell across one eye as she asked. Very femme fatale. 

"How can we do it again?" Mary Jane asked. "When you haven't even finished yet?" 

Felicia made a face. 

"Peter used to give me seven orgasms." 

"Oh, is that all?" 

"An hour." 

Felicia bit her lip. She began rubbing the lotion into her strap-on. 

The Black Cat didn't just enjoy challenges. She lived for them. 

*** 

Peter staggered into the laundry room—basically the one perk his apartment offered. True to her word, Mary Jane had dumped his costume into the wash, though it would need some stitching and a lot of bleach before it was wearable again. The spin-cycle done, he took it out and put it in the dryer, all the while being careful of the throbbing hard-on proceeding him. The last thing he wanted to do was be a two-pump chump with the two most important women in his life—Jesus, that would be one pump apiece. So he had to get this under control. 

He ducked into the kitchen—the shower was through the bedroom, where the blissful sounds of lovemaking still rang out—and turned the cold water tap on full blast. He cupped the cool water in his hands and splashed it onto his naked body, washing off a grimy layer of sweat airport style. Of course, rubbing himself down while two beautiful ladies made love in the other room did nothing to contain his erection. After he'd given his cock a swipe (for hygienic reasons only) he felt so short of breath he could've contracted asthma. 

"Fuck it," he said aloud. He ran full tilt to make the show his ears were promising him and found Mary Jane on her back in his bed, her legs thrashing and kicking when they weren't embracing Felicia's hips, trying to imprison them and the strap-on they wore. Her hands held Cat's lips tight against her own, tongues polishing each other, but not enough to drown out the sound of their mutual enjoyment. 

Peter went to them. He wasn't trying to be stealthy; he just didn't think to make noise. In fact, it was without a single thought of any kind that he knelt onto the bed to embrace Felicia from behind, his pelvis against her luscious ass, his engorged prick savoring the warm crease of her buttocks. He kissed her with the same passion he used to reach down and stroke her excruciatingly ready clitoris. 

Felicia couldn't be more receptive. She flexed her asscheeks obligingly as her pale arms drew both her lovers to her body, Mary Jane's soft breasts yielding slightly against her chest, Pete's own stiff nipples cutting into her back. Then she brought all of their mouths together in a three-way kiss of parted lips and twisting tongues. 

That's when the white-haired cat burglar reacted to Peter's novel ministrations. She felt her clit burn like a blowtorch being lit, the heat sweeping up her belly, pooling in her tits, making her face flush. 

Without a moment's resistance she gave into it, losing herself in the arousal that had been plying her since she first entered Mary Jane. She screamed like a volcanic eruption, releasing what seemed like millennia of repressed lust and orgasmic need. And even as the hot lava spilled from her cunt to burn her thighs, she urged Peter and MJ together. Peter kissed the redhead passionately as he reached around Felicia and cupped her titanic breasts with hands wet from her own molten orgasm. 

"Hello to you too," Felicia gasped, before he kissed her again, then Mary Jane once more. "Anything you'd like to say to me, lover?" 

He stopped—Mary Jane kissed at his hard chest—to look her up and down. "You had to get your boots on the bed?" 

Felicia wiggled her ass against the insistent throbbing that was pressed into it. "Red said it was okay." Then she was kissing Mary Jane to keep her from protesting her innocence and he was kissing her shoulder—fuck, how many possibilities were there...? "Don't suppose you would like a ride? Now that I've broken her in?" 

She began to pull the strap-on out as Mary Jane good-naturedly gave her the finger. 

Peter's hand on the small of her back stopped her. "Leave it in." 

Felicia's breath ran fast as he took up position behind her, pushing the strap of her dildo out of the way, that cock she'd been dreaming about finally touching her cunt. "Oh, sweet Jesus..." 

As enjoyable as what'd come before had been, this was simply ecstatic—a rush like a drug high, blurring together because the one moment of continuous pleasure couldn't possibly be distinguished from another. He entered her while she was still inside Mary Jane, and his thrust hit them both, pushing the dildo deeper into MJ. 

They both cried out in sisterly symphony, then Mary Jane sat up, embracing Peter with Felicia in-between them. Their loins worked like a row of wheels on a train, all pumping and retreating and pistoning in a way that looked complicated, but came together in simple, beautiful coordination. They went so hard that they were bouncing, the three of them, rodeoing up and down on the bedspread as it squeaked and squeaked. Their lips kissed everything that could be touched; Felicia felt hungry mouths on her cheek, her lips, her throat, even her nose. And they laughed. Thin, reedy, shrill, delighted, deep-throated—it seemed like their trio knew the punchline to a joke only they'd been told. 

Then Peter stopped. Being inside Felicia, his desperate need to fuck her had receded—a little—and now he wanted to draw this out, as he would one of those golden moments with Gwen or Uncle Ben. Okay, not like with Uncle Ben. 

But so many times, he'd been perfectly happy without even realizing it until it'd been ripped away. And right now, this second, for at least the duration of this breath, he was happy and he was in love and the people he was in love with were happy. He wanted to savor it, because even if there were a million more moments like this one in store for him, that didn't make this any less special. 

Peter kissed them both, one at a time, and none of them kept track of who he kissed first or who he kissed longest. It didn't matter. "I love you." 

"Love you too," Mary Jane replied, meaning it exactly as he did. Plural. 

"Love you two," Felicia teased, tapping two fingers on Mary Jane's lower back. 

Mary Jane kissed her, just as lovingly as Peter had. "Know what?" she asked sweetly, looping her arms around Felicia, one hand on Peter's shoulder and one right on his ass. "I think it's my turn to drive." 

She drew herself up to Peter, sandwiching Felicia between them, both women impaled on the hard cocks held inside them. Long years of companionship had Peter holding steady as she'd wished, just letting Felicia's sex writhe around his. Mary Jane pulled away again, gravity sapping Felicia off of Peter until MJ skewered herself on Felicia's cock once more—which impaled Felicia on Peter's. 

And Peter held absolutely still. It was just like he'd tried to show them by staying webbed to the wall for the full hour. Sometimes, self-control had its rewards. 

Mary Jane kept stroking Felicia's body with her own, fucking herself and Cat at the same time, Peter undulating with their motion just enough to compliment his wife. It was slow, sensuous, just the way Mary Jane liked it—and Felicia was not so addicted to being fucked hard and fast to dislike the motion of Peter's shaft dipping in and out of her, or the ebbing, flowing pressure that MJ put on the base of her dildo. 

Felicia came first—a bit unfairly, since she'd had the previous orgasm as well, but MJ didn't begrudge her either. In a fitting counterpart to the screaming orgasm of earlier, she rested her chin on Mary Jane's shoulder, sighed explosively, and shut her eyes, her loins shuddering enough for both Peter and Mary Jane to know what had happened. 

"Keep going," she told them, giving them permission to fuck right through her body, even if it stung. She kinda liked the sting. She was dating a spider, after all. 

Then it was Mary Jane's turn. Peter's lips were on hers, Felicia's mouth was on her neck, and her cunt was full. She just couldn't not come under those circumstances. Her world's colors became so bright she could've been in a movie, as she threw her head back so Felicia's tired head fell to her cleavage, and a moan of animal delight was sung from her clenching body. Peter felt the earthquake of her release, right through Felicia's body. 

On the other hand, he thought, sometimes self-control really had to fuck off and die. 

They tipped onto their sides as Peter hugged Mary Jane to Felicia, to his body, pumping into Cat so hard she was pinned to MJ. No more kisses. Just the growling, the moaning, the grunting as he fucked the two of them against his own unbreakable grip. The women grabbed onto everything they could reach: the sheets, Peter, each other. Still, they were shaken as hard as a man chained to a bucking bronco. 

Felicia came again from the pressure of the straps on her groin—that, Mary Jane resented, at least until her own multiple orgasm had her back arching against Peter's enclosing hands. And Peter was aware of nothing except their pleasure and his impending finish. Impossibly, he increased the pace of the relentless fucking he was giving them. 

Once more, he felt Felicia tugging at his thick cock in orgasm. This time he joined her, his heavy-laden balls finally bursting. A last jolt drove him into Felicia so hard that she was only spared physical harm by her Mutate nature. He found places of Felicia's slit deeper than he had ever gone, and marked them with a gushing payload of hot semen, an explosion of warmth inside Felicia; she could've sworn the skin of her lower belly was hot to the touch. 

It drove her wild, the kick of cum so intense that (she would swear to this also) it drove her into Mary Jane, setting off the redhead as well—a triple orgasm, the women clenching in solidarity with each other, Peter splattering Felicia with equal fervor, each shot from his cock seeming more powerful until he was done, more than empty, and when he pulled out of Felicia, his drained cock was still semi-erect. 

Waves of pleasure washed over all three of them, each thrilling to an aspect of what they had done. The love they'd shared, the animal maleness they'd felt, or the wonderful femininity they'd experienced. Barely conscious, Peter was pulled and ushered by the two women up in-between them, his head hitting the pillow and instantly shutting him off from the top down. Even then, it took his manhood more than a few seconds to finally give in. 

Felicia and Mary Jane laid on either side of him, heads on his chest, arms wrapped around Peter and each other. Though he was asleep, Peter's smile mirrored their own. 

"I know there was a reason I put up with him," Felicia said weakly, before she too spiraled down, down, granted a few moments of wakefulness by the dying lashes of ecstasy still between her legs, then her eyes closed with finality and she began to gently snore. 

Mary Jane gazed into her sweetly sleeping friend's face and reminded herself that it was what her newfound lover looked like. Peter's newfound lover, as well. She waited for jealousy to raise up, for her old fear of abandonment to take hold, but neither happened. 

She was content. She was absolutely, uncategorically pleased with what they had done. The only thing she wasn't happy with was the wait until it happened again. And though she wouldn't dream of holding her own relationship with Peter over Felicia's, or trying to compare one of his loves to another—she liked that it was her who was sleeping on his heart, hearing it beat as a dream took hold. One she wouldn't remember, but she'd know it didn't compare to having the man she loved and her best friend both in her arms. 

Where they belonged. 

*** 

Peter, Felicia, and Mary Jane laid in the center of the mess they'd made of his bedroom. The sheaf of papers and letters he'd set on the mattress had long since been scattered. A pillow had burst, lacing the room with feathers. 

On the bed, Felicia had kicked off her boots, leaving her disarmingly innocent in just gloves and a strap-on, while the spider-suit Mary Jane had borrowed from Peter still hung from one arm. She just hadn't been able to struggle out of it before falling unconscious. 

In fact, none of them had so much fallen asleep as they had collapsed from exhaustion. Even Peter's bottomless stamina had been lulled into submission by the two women who'd wrapped themselves around him. Only Felicia stirred, half-awake. She was thinking that this was the perfect end to as perfect a day as could be, minus larceny or brawling. 

Only the bed was too small. 

It was no problem for Peter or Mary Jane. The redhead was wrapped around her Spider like a human pretzel. But there was precious little room on the mattress for one person, let alone three. With the marrieds taking up a hundred and twenty percent of one person's space, Felicia's left arm and left leg dangled off the side and the bed sheet did not cover her all the way. 

It wasn't fair. They were used to this counterintuitive system of sleeping in a bed with someone just because you'd used that bed for sex. Felicia had to squirm around, trying to get comfortable on the margins of their little world. Trying to thrust herself onto Peter as much as MJ was, but it was impossible. He was so slender and Mary Jane was in the way and anyway, he was so warm and a little damp, not like her lovely silk sheets back home. All she succeeded in doing was waking him. 

"Eh? Huh? What's wrong?" he asked, blinking himself awake. 

"Nothing. Just trying to get comfortable." 

"You're not comfortable?" 

Mary Jane murmured in her sleep, shifting under Peter's embrace. He adjusted his arm. She made his pecs look like they were her exact Sleep Number. 

"I'm buying you a bigger bed." Felicia flicked her tongue under his chin. "A little goodie for my boy toy. Want a waterbed?" 

"Until then, let me just..." Peter reached up, stuck his hand to the wall the bed was against, and pried himself up. Mary Jane dropped off his body. "There. Room." 

"Peter, c'mon, it's your bed—" 

"No, no, you're my guest. I'll ride the couch." Peter hopped down onto the floor beside the bed. "It's fine. Fine. Go to sleep." 

Felicia scooted over into his warm spot. Mary Jane snuggled into her automatically. The man was a saint to give up that. "You're a sap." 

"Yeah. Your sap." Peter leaned over and kissed her, then the sleeping MJ. Then he padded out into the living room. 

Spooning with Mary Jane wasn't Felicia's idea of a chore, but not sleeping with Peter—uncool. Very uncool. 

*** 

Peter found the bottom of his spare spider-suit—the one Mary Jane had left smelling like salmon—and adapted it into pajama bottoms. Then he laid himself out on the couch and the next thing he knew, it was morning. He got up, assuming he was the first one to do so. No coffee in the machine confirmed his hypothesis. He started a pot, then headed for the bathroom to grab a shower. He remembered his hobo wipe-down the other day at the kitchen sink. Another round with Felicia and Mary Jane and he needed a fresh coat of paint. 

In passing, he glanced at the bed. From the rumpled lumps of the drawn-in sheets, Felicia's face emerged in a tangle of white hair. Her eyes were closed, still fast asleep, her look girlish and peaceful. Peter felt a sort of guy-swoon in his heart. He resisted the urge to kiss her anymore, instead slipping into the bathroom and finding Mary Jane naked in the shower. 

She hadn't turned it on yet. How was he supposed to know? 

"Sorry, sorry," he said, averting his eyes and backing into the doorframe. Oops. He reached behind him for the doorknob, but his hand and memory couldn't seem to agree on where it was. "Total accident, didn't see a thing, I'm outie..." 




Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 02



"Peter," Mary Jane said, sounding just slightly more amused than chiding. He opened his eyes a little. Her hands were on her hips. Her bare hips. Her hands were bare too. That is, she wasn't wearing gloves. "I kinda think you got the whole picture last night. During the ménage à trois?" 

"Well..." Peter had his hand in front of his eyes anyway. In the cold light of day, it seemed a lot more likely that he'd had some sort of fever dream than—what had she called it? A ménage à trois? Three separate ménage? "I wouldn't want to presume—maybe you had second thoughts?" 

"Right now? Little bit." She turned the faucet on. "Come on, tiger. Get in here. Let's save some water." 

*** 

Felicia woke up with her thighs squeezing together. Her pussy buzzed with almost the same delicious sensations she had gone to sleep with. She didn't remember having a wet dream, but she wondered if she'd come during her sleep. Maybe Spider or Red had gotten a little handsy with her in the night. They were both naughtier than they let on. Felicia reached down under the crotch of her strap-on. The lips of her pussy were not only wet, but very wet. 

Cat laid there, letting the fever of her waking arousal run through her. She almost could've stroked herself: squeezed her own tits, fucked her own cunt. She had a dildo close enough for it. But why, when she had the marrieds to do it for her? 

Felicia slipped out of bed, proud of how her breasts jiggled with the motion, and discarded her gloves and dildo onto the sweat-stained bed. She laughed as she saw the strap-on land propped up, as if the phallus were hungry for more. And she went into the bathroom, her nipples swollen and sore and begging to be kissed yet more. 

There was a tiny shower stall in there, tucked into the corner like a very wet closet, and Peter and Mary Jane were washing up in it, under the rinky-dink showerhead that produced just enough steam to be interesting. Their kisses were blissful and passionate. Felicia watched Mary Jane wash hubby's most important part. 

"Room for one more?" she asked, cracking the door open. 

"Uhh..." Peter looked about the stall, doing some quick calculations. "Possibly?" 

"We'll make room," Mary Jane said, pulling Peter to her and lodging them both against the wall. 

Felicia laughed as she stepped under the shower spray with them. Or, skirted the edge of the shower spray. The mist made it look a bit more plentiful than it really was. And she couldn't shut the door behind her. But who cared about that when she could press her body against Peter's back, touch and feel and look and listen as he fucked Mary Jane Watson into the wall, right in front of her. 

All while Felicia was licking away the sweat where the shower didn't touch (the showerhead was a little low to get all of Peter's tall frame without him hunching over) and reaching around to grab at this ass or that, at MJ's soft breasts or Spider's hard muscles. It was a great way to start her day off. 

Only she was really more standing outside the shower and leaning in, and her feet were on the wet tile of the bathroom and there was no mat and the air conditioning was blowing right through the apartment, all of which made Felicia feel like she was hugging a nice, warm stove while a snowman fucked her in the ass. 

This wasn't working for her. 

"Spread your legs," Felicia said, getting down on all fours. 

"What?" Peter looked behind himself, then down to find her. "What're you doing down there?" 

"Rubbing up against your leg." 

"Isn't that a bit literal, Cat?" 

"Didn't you have six arms for a while?" 

Peter spread his legs, sticking to either side of the shower walls. It reminded Felicia of some of her Jean-Claude Van Damme fantasies. With Peter out of the way and Mary Jane pinned to the wall, Felicia was free to crawl underneath them and into the blessed warmth of the shower. She sat up, kissing Peter's leg and Mary Jane's in turn, before reaching the junction of those long supermodel stems. With the shower water running down it, MJ's puss tasted vaguely of metal, but Felicia could take it. And the way Peter pumped himself into wifey sent his balls slapping into Felicia's face, which she actually kinda liked. 

Felicia had a handful of both their asses, she could taste his cock and her cunt with each swipe of her tongue, squeezing her thighs together halfway got her off, Mary Jane was going limp and Peter was fucking her even as she came. Cat jilled three fingers into her ready pussy. She was going to come, Peter was going to come, MJ was going to come again, then the water turned into Iceman pissing on them. 

"Jesus God!" Felicia cried as she fled the frozen shower—standing up, banging her head into a rather sensitive part on Peter's anatomy, he dropped Mary Jane, she slipped and slid on the floor, toppled into Peter, he dominoed into Felicia, they tumbled out of the stall all together just like the Three Stooges and about as sexy. 

Peter turned off the water with his foot. "Hot water runs out pretty fast around here. Forgot to mention it." 

*** 

Felicia and Mary Jane had come over to Peter's place in a leather catsuit and a casual ensemble of MJ's that had been completely lost in the carnage. Thankfully, Peter's old roommate Michele Gonzales had left a box of her clothes when she'd moved. Unfortunately, her tastes were... eclectic. 

"Ay yi yi," Felicia enunciated dryly, clad in a kissy lip bandana, shades, a leopard-print skirt, and a T-shirt with a picture of a coffee mug and the text "Colombian. Warning: Extremely hot." 

"Let's not bring race into this," Mary Jane replied, wearing an extravagant red dress that could charitably be described as a tribute to Charo and not, say, a hate crime. 

"They're not mine," Peter protested, a sweatshirt on over his spider-pants. He served them breakfast—Fruit Loops with no milk. On paper plates. If he'd known he'd be having threesome company, he would've made a grocery run sooner. "I tried giving them to the Salvation Army..." 

"But you're sure this was a real person?" Felicia insisted. "And not, say, the result of lightning striking the filmography of Michelle Rodriguez?" 

"Or the leader of a book club having to go undercover to infiltrate a Mexican gang?" MJ added. 

"If you don't like 'em, put 'em back in the box." 

Felicia began to pull her shirt off, but Mary Jane grabbed her hand. "Listen, Peter," the redhead began, in her sweetest tone. "We love you and all, and we hate to start—'fixing you' on the first date..." 

"I don't mind," Felicia interjected. "Get a better razor, Peter." 

MJ kicked her under the table. "The point is, Peter, if we're going to do this, we need to move into a bigger place." 

"You want to move in together?" Peter asked. It was with a smile. A somewhat wary smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

"You want to move in together?" Felicia asked. 

Mary Jane nodded. "Why take it slow? We know where this is going. Let's just skip ahead. Dive right in." She turned to Felicia. "Any objections?" 

"No. We've all done the dating bullshit and the getting-to-know-you stuff. You want us to use your place?" 

Mary Jane shook her head. "I live with three guys." 

Peter raised an eyebrow. 

"They're all gay," MJ clarified. 

Felicia raised an eyebrow. "Hey, give me an afternoon to clear out a space, you can come stay at my place. I have more room than I know what to do with, and if Peter isn't cool with me stealing priceless antiquities to kill the negative space—" 

"When have I ever been cool?" Peter asked. 

"—then you two can bunk with me. Sure." Felicia looked up, briefly absorbed into another thought. "By the way, if you find Wolverine in the guest room, it's only because we're good friends. Nothing happened." 

"Okay, pause, pause—" Peter said, holding his hands up. 

"Do you mean time-out?" Felicia looked to Mary Jane. "Does he not know what a time-out is? Doesn't he know anything about sports?" 

"He thinks they use blue shells in NASCAR." MJ quickly swiveled to Peter. "Yes, dear?" 

"Okay, it's great that we're all on the same page and we want to explore this—stuff—together." Peter stood, thinking it would make him more authoritative. Considering his red and blue pants, that did not occur. "But we need to be realistic." 

Mary Jane smiled into her coffee. "Honey, you got superpowers from a bug bite." 

"Really?" Felicia gawked in surprise. "That's how it happened? I thought he was chosen by some mystical spider-god or something." 

"Nope." 

"I have work in forty-five minutes," Peter told them. "Can you just listen and make fun of me later, behind my back, like normal people?" 

The ladies put on mock-serious expressions, sitting up straight with their hands in their laps. 

"Okay, look, I know I'm a bit hung up on Gwen. I don't like it either. But you've got to understand—she was my girlfriend, it was my job to protect her, and she died when I could've saved her if only—" He looked away. "Yeah. I never want to do that again. So we can't let any of this Spider-Man stuff turn around on us. And that means we can't do this anymore. Not this way, at least," he added at their surprised dismay. "Felicia, your alter ego is a matter of public record. If you're dating Spider-Man, you can't be seen with Peter Parker, just like MJ, Spider-Man can't kiss you if Peter Parker's dating you. I'm sorry; last night was amazing, it was wonderful, but you two being alive is worth way more to me than—that." 

"Come off it, tiger," MJ demanded. "You took off your mask in front of the whole world; six months later, everyone forgot it like it was Sam Worthington. There's gotta be a work-around." 

"Yeah," Felicia agreed. "I'm not letting fear of the fucking Shocker control my life. We'll work something out. Like always." 

"Leave it to us," Mary Jane concluded. "We'll figure something out. You just go to work and we'll sort it out." 

"And fool around a little," Felicia added. 

"Time permitting." 

"Yes." 

"I'm not betting against you." Peter stood. "Just remember, until we do work something out, if we're seen together, it's on accident." 

Felicia nodded dutifully, looking between her two lovers. "Uh-huh, uh-huh, question. So we're about to go our separate ways, and you don't know how long it'll be until we all meet again or under what circumstances?" 

"Yeah, I don't like it either," Peter muttered dolefully. 

Felicia and Mary Jane shared a look, the redhead taking her meaning. "But for now, as long as we're under one roof, it's no big deal." 

"Hopefully." Peter checked his watch. "I gotta get going—traffic in New York is bad even if you're web-slinging..." 

Felicia pushed her chair back as she stood up. "But Peter, what you're saying is that if we wanted to do something with you—" 

Mary Jane knocked hers over. "To you." 

Felicia came up on Peter's left. "It'd have to be right here." 

Mary Jane was on his right. "Right now." 

"Yes, I, uh, suppose I am—" If Peter still wore glasses, they'd be fogging up. "But, really, we should—right now, we should agree to this plan and, and stick to it..." 

"Stick?" Felicia asked, her hand at his crotch, her smile liking what she'd found. 

Peter turned to Mary Jane for help. "I just. We've got a good thing. Here. Good thing. No one knows about it, so the only way this gets ruined is if we do it to each other..." 

She took his hands and put them on her breasts. "Do it to each other?" MJ repeated wonderingly. 

There was only so much fortitude a man could possess. Peter let Felicia undo his pants, Mary Jane peel off his shirt, then the three of them kissed for the longest time, their tongues in and out of one another's mouths with a slow, tender grace that lasted right up until the two women moved lower. 

"Hey Miss Kitty," MJ stage-whispered in her friend's ear. "Mind showing me how to deep-throat?" 

"I thought you'd never ask, firecrotch." 

*** 

"PARKER, WHAT ARE YOU SO HAPPY ABOUT? YOU'RE LATE! LATE! LUCKY I DON'T FIRE YOU RIGHT NOW!" 

"Yes sir," Peter replied, still a bit moony-eyed ever after snapping out of his reminiscing. 

Mary Jane had proven a natural. 

As impossible as it seemed, sometimes J. Jonah Jameson could get even louder. "GOT AN ASSIGNMENT FOR YOU, IF YOU'RE NOT TOO BUSY PONDERING THE SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE! PARKER! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?" 

"Yes sir," Peter replied. "Secrets of the universe. Sounds very important." 

Jameson growled. Ten thousand years of cultural advancement had rendered it socially unacceptable for him to rip Parker's throat out with his mouth, so that was all he could do. "GOT A NEW GOSSIP COLUMNIST ON STAFF! GOOD GIRL, YOU'LL LIKE HER, WORKS CHEAP! ALREADY PAYING OFF TOO, UNLIKE THE REST OF YOU SLACKERS! SHE'S GOT AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH FELICIA HARDY, THAT BIMBO HEIRESS WHO HAD THE REALITY TV SHOW A FEW YEARS AGO, BACK WHEN NOT EVERYONE HAD ONE!" 

And the Black Cat, Peter thought to himself. His new squeeze. What had she and MJ cooked up in an afternoon's work? He shuddered to think. 

"SHE'S GONNA LET US TAKE PICTURES WHILE WE INTERVIEW HER, AND NOTHING SELLS BETTER THAN A CUTE GIRL IN A BARELY-THERE OUTFIT, EXCEPT MAYBE SPIDER-MAN, AND THAT WALL-CRAWLING MENACE HASN'T BEEN SEEN SINCE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON!" 

"Maybe he had better people to do," Peter suggested. Then, hurriedly: "Things! I said things." 

Jameson gave him a queer look. "DON'T GO WEIRD ON ME, PARKER! THIS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF DOESN'T HAVE TIME FOR IT! JUST GET YOUR ASS AND YOUR NEW SLAVEDRIVER TO WHATEVER UPPER EAST SIDE PALACE HARDY CALLS HOME AND SEE IF YOU CAN TAKE A PICTURE OF HER BENDING OVER SOMETHING FOR THE EVENING EDITION! WELL, WHAT ARE YOU DOING STANDING AROUND LISTENING TO ME, I CAN'T GET MORE SPECIFIC THAN THAT, GO! GO!" 

Peter belatedly realized he was supposed to stand. He did, though his groin twinged with the motion, even after all this time. 

Mary Jane was a natural, but Felicia had been a goddamn professional. 

"Sorry, sir, who's my new—the new gossip columnist?" 

"That'd be me," a voice new to the bullpen, raspy and attractively self-deprecating, sounded from behind Peter. He turned to see a buxom woman in glasses, dressed in a sort of boho chic style for people who had graduated college. He took an instant liking to her. Or at least, his penis did. Peter tried to think unsexy thoughts, but the past twenty-four hours had not been heavy on them. 

"Darcy Lewis," she greeted him. She did not offer to shake; her hands stayed firmly in her pockets. "So, you wanna go write about famous people fuckin'?"



Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 03



Felicia lived in an Empire Suite in the Carlyle, the luxury hotel where Marilyn Monroe had had her tryst with JFK, thanks to some secret tunnels. Peter guessed knowing that was how some real estate agent had made a mint off Felicia Hardy. 

Being gently, but somewhat icily ushered in by the various concierges and door staff, Peter and Darcy made their way to the 28th floor. The elevator had a window on one side that looked out large portholes in the building's façade to show them the climb up New York. It was all very impressive, if you couldn't climb the wall with your hands. Similarly, the brisk walk to Felicia's door had enough fine art involved to make MOCA jealous, but it mostly reminded Peter of Tony Stark's powder room. He'd lived a hell of a life. And that was before last night. 

Felicia answered the door in a work-out bra and yoga pants, her sweaty white hair sticking to her neck and shoulders. Sweat covered her toned midriff like the condensation on a tall, cool glass of Coke—the kind you needed after a long day in the sun. She even smelled nice. A good, physical scent like caviar, almost. How come Peter never ended up smelling like caviar after a couple hours swinging around in a spandex onesie? 

Maybe my neckline isn't low enough, he thought. 

"Oh. Hey, reporter monkeys," she called sweetly, stepping back to allow them in. "Just finishing my work-out. I love a good work-out." She said it eying Peter as he came through the door. 

On the way up in the elevator, a little video system had narrated the 'story of the Empire Suite.' Felicia's was a three-bedroom duplex on the 28th and 29th floors that had been owned by a painter whose name Peter couldn't begin to pronounce, until he'd been killed by Ultron one of those times Ultron killed a lot of people. 'Designer Thierry Despont' (Peter could begin to pronounce his name, but not finish) had refurbished the 2,600-square-foot apartment with 'American and French Art Deco touches,' 'the rich fabric textures of boiled wool and cashmere,' 'a sweeping staircase that he's referred to as his masterpiece.' Then an MMoA curator had filled the penthouse's walls with Parisian art from the Golden Age, which Peter guessed but would not state as being the 1920s. Maybe the 1930s. He didn't think it was the 1940s. Hard to find time to paint when you were surrendering to the Nazis. 

"Felicia Hardy," she said, chugging that new water that came in a glass bottle. 

"Darcy Lewis," Peter's new boss replied, with a gesture to him. "Peter Parker, the Bugle's best photographer." 

"Guy who gets all the pictures of Spider-Man." Felicia smiled at him. "I have your book." 

"It's a good book," Peter replied uncertainly. He hated the whole thing of pretending not to know someone you know as Spider-Man/a threesome haver. 

"Like the art?" she followed up. With him, she eyed an Impressionistic painting of the view from the Empire State Building. It was good work. The way the city lights looked at night were somehow realer for being transformed into paint and canvas. Peter'd often marveled at it himself, just in the flesh. "I have to admit, it's not as much fun when you have to pay for it. But at least the IRS can't take it. I need a shower." 

And she walked off, kicking a ratty pair of sneakers to the wall. 

"What does she mean by that?" Peter asked Darcy, even though there was no way she knew Felicia better than him, other than sharing a chromosome. 

"Maybe she wants us to follow her?" 

She had to rub the size of her shower in his face. 

*** 

The bathroom was a little like the one at Avengers Tower, with the sinks you could bathe a midget in. Not that Peter saw much of it. Felicia left the door open a crack, enough to see the shower stall that could probably fit four people in it, as well as the showerhead she moved over her sudded-up body. 

Keep in character, Peter reminded himself, standing parallel to that cracked door, his back to the wall. Darcy had no such compunctions, practically standing in the doorway as she interviewed Hardy. She even gave him a look like, man, you oughta see this chick's cans. 

"So hey, how's the detective agency going?" Darcy called, tossing her pocket recorder to Peter. He dutifully held it in front of the door as Darcy used pen and paper to make sure she didn't lose anything to the sound of the shower spray. 

"Private security firm," Felicia replied. "It's... fun. I don't like to micromanage. I do the PR, the tweets, occasionally I consult on the more exotic cases." Her voice rose on that, enjoying the recollection. Or maybe it was just that she was washing off her thighs. "Mostly it's just a matter of finding the right people and letting them handle my needs. Would you like to get a picture? I don't think people will believe this happened if you don't." 

Darcy and Peter shared an incredulous hah. "I don't think they'd let us print it." 

"You can try. C'mon now, Parker, was it? Don't be shy..." 

Peter hoisted his camera from the strap around his neck, taking care not to be too suggestive adjusting the lens, then stepped into the doorway. Felicia stood in the shower, her side to him, arms against the wall, blocking most of his view of her cleavage. He could still see the curve of her hip, and it made him relive the feel of it under his fingers all over again. 

"Say cheese," he said numbly, and took the picture. He thought a Pulitzer might be in order for keeping it PG-13. 

"There now. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Felicia turned off the shower and pushed the foggy glass door open. She'd shaved since last night. "Pass me the towel?" 

Peter felt Darcy standing on her tip toes to look over her shoulder. "Certainly." Somewhat protective even now, he tried to block Darcy's view a little as he reached over to the towel rack, took what was quite possibly the hide of a skinned polar bear, and held it out to Felicia. 

"Thank you," she replied, sweet as sugar. When she took it, her wet fingers brushed against his. He felt the heat of the water like the heat of her body. Peter didn't think the shower in his apartment even went that hot. 

"I've also heard of a few sightings of the Black Cat," Darcy broke in. "Care to comment?" 

Felicia wrapped the towel around herself. Hotel-issue, it was a scanty thing to hold in all her cleavage and contain her great height. The bottom cut off at mid-thigh. "It's not illegal to stop a few muggings. Or to get a few cats out of a few trees. And it's good publicity for the agency. My boys work hard. They deserve anything that makes their lives easier." 

"Some of those sightings have been linked to crimes. You know—larceny?" 

Felicia slunk out of the bathroom, staring down at Darcy so close that the water from her damp hair almost dripped on her. "Copycats." Her attention shifted behind her, to Peter, though she didn't look at him. "Parker, how many times has Spider-Man been accused of a crime, only for it to turn out to be Mysterio, or the Chameleon, or just a Skrull looking to give him a hard time?" 

"...a lot," Peter said evenly, meaning don't bring me into this. 

"So we're going with Skrulls?" Darcy asked, her tone calling bullshit. She sounded it out again. "We are going with Skrulls..." 

Felicia pursed her lips. "I'm making you feel overdressed, aren't I? Well, if you're not taking anything off, I should put something on." Her gaze shifted to Peter. "Any requests?" 

"Pants?" he squeaked. Her towel was stretched so thin over her breasts he suspected it was going to turn translucent. 

"If you insist. Come on, reporter monkeys. Time is money. Money is happiness." 

Darcy snatched back her recorder from Peter as he stood there, watching Felicia wiggle away, motionless. He couldn't help it. It was like meeting Mary Jane for the first time all over again. Back when he hadn't even known they made dresses that short. 

She led them into her dressing room, introducing them to a few of her cats on the way. Apparently, most of the twice daily room service was the care and feeding of the felines. Felicia fed them herself when she was able, and paid the hotel staff extra to learn their names and even let them roam the halls at times. 

The dressing room could've been more technically referred to as a walk-in closet, only by no stretch of the imagination was it a closet. It was a whole room given over to clothes, with multiple dressers, a wall devoted to shoes, a holographic projector that showed what the user looked like in different combinations (Tony had one of those too), and one whole wardrobe devoted to lingerie. 

"What do you want me in?" Felicia asked, her sultry drawl going full-force, hitting Peter like a cloudburst. "I'll defer to the man on this one. Unless the lady has an opinion...?" Her look at Darcy was an open question, and not the kind she'd asked. 

"Only when I've had two too many Margaritas," Darcy replied. 

"I have wine," Felicia offered suggestively. 

"Yeah, I don't drink on the job." 

"Shouldn't that depend on the job?" 

Peter looked over her collection as the women continued their patter, noting one negligee in particular. Lingerie from Mary Jane's defunct line, Red-Headed Stranger, from back when she was barely out of college and ready to conquer the world. The fashion world had eaten its young particularly fast, in that case, but MJ's determination to have a career had transitioned her into a well-regarded actress. Peter was far more proud of that determination to continue her career than the beauty that had started it in the first place. 

"Those," he said, interrupting a veiled joke Felicia was making about blowjobs. 

Felicia looked at them. It hadn't been a test, she just hadn't realized they were in there—the same spark of realization Peter had had made her giggle. "Good choice." 

Felicia stepped behind a dressing screen to change—the one thing in the room that wasn't ultra-modern. Peter stayed on the other side of it; the view of her silhouette through the translucency was peepshow enough for him. Darcy, though, casually leaned on the wall so she could see inside. 

"But how's your love life, anyway? Until one of the Avengers comes out of the closet, the big news in superhero gossip is you and... Daredevil, was it?" 

"It was," Felicia said, emphasis on the past-tense. "But life's too short for me to get hung up on any one man. I'm a cat on the prowl. I go where my nose takes me." 

"Hey, has your nose been aimed at Spider-Man lately? I mean, you two have history in a big way." 

"Spidey's...fun. Really, really fun." Peter could hear Felicia's smile in her voice. "And I'm fun too. Sometimes we have fun together. But don't wait up expecting invitations to the wedding. I only go to those to do the bridesmaids." 

Felicia stepped out from behind the dressing screen, wearing what could only be construed as a challenge to imagine her naked. It was black silk, sheer enough to be translucent though the coloration was enough to deter those with poor imaginations. She gave a turn, showing how it both clung to her frankly enormous breasts and hovered around her full ass. 

Peter remembered when Mary Jane had worn it for the first time, giddy and showing off, his own happiness for her almost more sexual than the outfit. He'd done nothing else that night but experimented with all the ways that particular garment could be moved out of the way to let him in. 

But with it on Felicia, the negligee both brought back memories and proved thrillingly new. The curves of Felicia's gracious body showed through every inch of the material. Peter couldn't help himself. He mentally removed that one percent of fabric that kept her from being wholly naked. With his memories of her body, the feel of her flesh still on his skin, Peter could imagine all of what his eyes had avoided in the shower. 

Skin as pale as a saucer of cream, her breasts like ripe melons, her legs shapely with muscle, the dimples where her waist truly became her back—the little rounded exclamation of her navel, the rounded buttocks that were impossibly soft when the rest of her could be so hard with muscle... the strong jawline, the soft cheeks, the blazing green eyes that challenged when the rest of her body pleased. And finally, the little silken tuft of white hair that she left to overlay her otherwise bare slit. 

Felicia ran her hands over her breasts, fingers clinging to her flesh as the silk did, both emphasizing her cleavage. The curl of her lips showed how much she loved the feel of the fabric against her skin. When her hands came away, her nipples were erect, stabbing into the silk. "Photograph me, Parker." 

In the middle of the room was a minimalist Méridienne: the 'boyfriend seat' for men to wait in while she tried on this outfit or that. Felicia sat down on it and Peter shot her. She gave him a chiding look, not being ready yet, and he shrugged unapologetically. It was worth a picture, just her sitting down. She put her hands on her knees and spread her legs; he shot an off-center view of the stance. Then she drew her legs together and lifted her breasts with her hands. He shot that too. 

"So you and Spider-Man... c'mon, dude?" Darcy asked. "Superfriends with benefits?" 

Felicia inched the lacy hem of her nightie up her thighs as she spoke. "I don't like labels. Especially stupid ones. Peter, do you think my panties look alright?" She reached down between her legs, smoothing it out over the dark shadow of her sex, adjusting the tiny ruffles just a degree. 

Peter blushed furiously. "I..." 

"That's exactly the look I was going for." She laid back, inviting him to shoot up her crotch. Peter did, but high enough that all the camera caught was from her belly on up. 

"But you're not dating anyone?" Darcy insisted, sitting on the Méridienne alongside Felicia as a way of drawing her attention. 

"No, honey. But like Starbucks, I'm always accepting applications." Felicia bit down on the sleeve of Darcy's baggy jumper, pulling on it with clenched teeth. "Why? Are you interested in a position?" 

Peter snapped a picture, which got him a dirty look from Darcy. "Get a shot of her ass, Parker. She's a perfect ass," Darcy said, drawing out her 'slip'. 

Felicia rolled onto her belly, put her hands onto the unblemished globes of her ass, and pulled the smooth white cheeks open so her scant panties crawled up the crevice of her posterior. Peter dully snapped a picture. He found himself breathing heavily in admiration of the soft swell that belonged to her naked thighs. Though he was standing, he crossed his ankles and hunched, trying to hide the product of the aching that built steadily at his groin. 

Thankfully, Darcy was too focused on Felicia to notice. Her eyes were starting to light up behind her glasses. "Say I did... fill your position." 

"Ooh." Felicia giggled naughtily. 

"You're saying Spider-Man would be fine with his girlfriend stepping out on him?" 

"I'm not Spider-Man's girlfriend," Felicia said, distinctly impatient. "But c'mon. Do you really think a boy scout like that would do more with me than a little messing around? I'm not the girl you take home to mother. Am I, Parker?" 

Felicia flipped over, red flowing up from her core to give her the healthiest pink hue. As much as Peter liked to watch her, she enjoyed being watched more. She stretched out on the Méridienne, her cheek to Darcy's leg, her breasts on full display against the thin fabric of her negligee. She licked her lips and Peter obediently snapped a picture of them gleaming wetly. 

"I'd take you anywhere," he said softly. 

Darcy didn't hear him. "Neither am I," she confided. "But that doesn't mean guys don't take me places. Tell me, would you care if Spider-man cheated on you?" 

"Not likely with the mug he's got under the mask. He's hideously deformed, you know. Makes Deadpool look like Orlando Bloom. I have him keep the mask on while we're telling secrets." 

Peter winced at that. He didn't like being reminded of the brief period of their relationship when he'd been so cavalier as to insist on them keeping the masks on, even having her close her eyes while they had sex. It was like Doc Ock had gotten hold of his body early. Thankfully, he would have a lot of time to make that and a lot of other things up to Felicia. 

"But let's say Freddy Krueger did meet a nice girl who didn't dress up as a cat?" Darcy pressed. 

"More power to him. It's not like he'd be the only superhero with an open relationship. You think Tony Stark has never had a threesome? Or Emma Frost is fine with lights-off Cyclops sex for the rest of her life? Hell, you think Namor would keep coming to New York if Sue wasn't giving up a little something?" Her hands up on the Méridienne's headrest now, Felicia leaned forward so almost all of her cleavage billowed into view. Her nipples were becoming even harder, rising with each pulse of her heaving breasts, pressing against the very edge of her dress. She wanted to be fucked. 

"Hey Parker," she called gently, "any adjustments you'd like to make?" 

This wasn't the first boudoir photography Peter had done. When he and MJ had been living together, she'd let him test out new cameras on her—allowing him to direct in the manner she was accustomed to, albeit far sweeter than most studio photographers. And, of course, he was allowed to show her exactly the pose he wanted her to strike by moving her into it—touching her breasts, her ass, her belly, her lips. Having Felicia strike poses entirely of her own accord was arousing too, in its own way, but Peter was aware of just what he had to do to get a perfect picture. 

Peter fingered the strap of her negligee, removing that one clingy strand of fabric, allowing her neckline to dip practically to the floor. The actual areola of her left nipple came into view, instantly drawing Darcy's eye, while Peter was lost in the feel of her skin against the fingers that had half-undone her negligee. 

Bending over her, almost unaware of himself, he took in the scent of her nakedly exposed neck, fresh from the shower. A smell uniquely her own. 

"I think this picture should stay between just the two of us," Felicia said, giving the camera her best Blue Steel. "Or should that be three of us?" Her eyes flickered to Darcy. 

"Yeah, yeah, your tits are amazing," Darcy groused. "But you're evading my questions." 

"You think I'm lying? That Spider-Man is my secret husband or something?" 

"I've been able to suspend a whole lot of disbelief since I met Rocket Raccoon." 

After Peter took one picture, Felicia smiled for another. Her bright grin Peter found far more attractive than the Vogue look of before. The bulge in his pants grew accordingly. "I'll prove it to you, Ms. Lewis. To show you I'm not the least bit hung up on Spider-Man, I'll fuck the first guy I see." Felicia looked up, meeting Peter's eyes. "Oh. Hello there." 

Then she took him by the tie of his navy-blue suit and just... kissed the hell out of him. 

That was all Peter could take. Repeated exposure had done nothing to lessen Felicia's power over him. Now there were two women in his life who could command his heart with a simple glance. Which Peter had a hard time seeing the downside of, at the moment. 

He licked down the length of Felicia's exquisite neck, all the way to the deep cleavage of her chest. A sweep of his hand quickly removed the last, offending strap of her negligee, and it dropped to spill out her incredible breasts, the diamond-hard nipples grazing his chest, adding to both their lust. Felicia cast a look at Darcy as Peter devoured her breasts. 

"In or out?" she said heatedly. 

Darcy was next to speechless. "Holy shit, Parker!" was all she could say, though the words came out hardly chiding. Dude was clearly a breast man, and those were any breast man's white whale. 




Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 03



"I'm taking my lunch break," Peter quipped, rolling Felicia's nightie down her body and kissing what he uncovered. 

Felicia laughed. "Nice one!" She faced Darcy. "Don't... think I'm easy. Before I started this, I checked to see if he had a big cock. And this motherfucker-" She reached down to grind her hand between Peter's legs. "What's your name again?" she 'asked'. 

"Peter," he replied hurriedly. 

"How appropriate! Ms. Lewis, Peter here seems like a really sweet guy—but he has the cock of a complete monster." 

Peter had been subjected to a lot of things in his life. Sexual objectification was a new one. He decided he liked it better than running out of webbing. 

Darcy shut off her recorder, mustering all her professionalism. "I think I'll wait outside. I can get Peter's impressions later." 

"Oh, you think he'll leave impressions?" Felicia smirked. She waved Darcy off. "There's food in the fridge. Help yourself. And shut the door on the way out. It's soundproofed and, I'm a screamer." 

The doors swung shut after Darcy. Peter finished the kiss he was on, then pulled away from Felicia's exotically pierced belly button. "I think she bought it. She actually thinks we're having sex." 

"She's smart that way," Felicia said, and shoved Peter to the ground. 

A moment later, he was mounted. 

Two moments later, Felicia stopped kissing him. Her rumpled negligee hanging off her waist gave her the jungle loincloth look of Shanna the She-Devil or something. "What's wrong?" 

"Felicia, this is about as right as my life has been—ever," he assured her. 

"No, this feels like when I'm trying to seduce you. When you're all stiff and unreceptive and I usually end up in jail." She stroked his face, her touch like a firebrand. "What is it, Peter? Tell me." 

"It's just... weird, doing this without Mary Jane here. I know, I know she'd be fine with it, I should be fine with it too. But it feels..." 

"Like you're cheating on her?" 

Peter nodded guiltily. 

"MJ felt the same way without you. She got over it." 

"So will I," Peter promised her. "Maybe we could just go a little slower?" 

"Or..." Felicia reached under the Méridienne, coming up with a burner phone. "Who says Mary Jane can't be here?" 

*** 

Mary Jane's foot wouldn't stop tapping. The hall outside the audition room was like the entryway to a slaughterhouse. There must've been a hundred actresses, all given the same casting sides, all trying to imagine a character out of a bare thousand words, all given twenty minutes to win a role that could literally be a career. 

The casting call had come out of nowhere: just about every actress MJ knew was in on it. The net had been cast wide. She was nervous as hell and she still had a hour's wait to go. 

Her cell phone rang then. MJ quit memorizing the side for a third time and checked it. Peter. She picked up. "Pete, I'm freaking out," she whispered—the actresses on either side of her being too absorbed in iPod and meditation technique to overhear. 

"What, what's wrong?" 

"Last-minute casting call. If I get it—it could be big. It could be really, really big." 

"So you'll get it." Peter's confidence in was in stark contrast to his own self-confidence; it never wavered. 

"Everyone here is younger and hotter than me." 

"I believe the younger part." 

Mary Jane smiled despite herself. "Can you call me back with the pep talk a little later? I think it'll wear off by the time I get inside. Hey, what'd you want to talk to me about?" 

"Oh, it's nothing..." 

MJ stood, stepping away from the line of actresses, leaning against the opposite wall for privacy. "Did you figure out me and Felicia's plan?" 

"Yeah, we were just—getting a little carried away, actually." 

"Mmm. What are you wearing?" 

"Not much. But compared to Felicia, I'm a priest." 

Mary Jane smiled into the mouthpiece. "I don't know who I'm jealous of." 

"Well, uh, 'bout that..." 

"Gimme that," came a muffled voice over the line, and MJ heard some rustling as the phone was fumbled around. "Red, we want to have the phone sex with you," Felicia enunciated, tres clear. 

That made MJ forget about that bitch Shailene Woodley about to audition for her part. "Hold on a sec. Let me find a supply closet." 

*** 

"So, do you have a burner phone in every room of your house?" Peter asked, fiddling with the phone to activate its video link. 

"Of course," Felicia replied. "Condoms and lubricant too. And guns." 

"You're like a sexy Gary Busey," Peter said. 

"Please. I'm a very sexy Gary Busey." Felicia bared her teeth. 

The phone's screen turned into a little icon indicating it was waiting for confirmation on the other end, which cleared to become streaming video of a dark supply closet with a redhead inside. Peter smiled. "Hey MJ." 

"Tiger," Mary Jane said fondly. "I'm alone... show me our girl." 

Peter aimed the phone's camera at Felicia, who struck a little pose covering her bare breasts with her hands. Then squeezing them. 

"Mmhmm. And where's Peter?" 

Peter turned the phone around, giving her a wave. 

"Not that Peter." 

Felicia took hold of the phone and pushed down on it until it showed his cock, jutting up towards Felicia who was seated on his thighs. 

"Holy shit. Felicia, what did you do to that boy?" 

"Wore some of your lingerie. You should get back in the negligee business. Ads would be easy. 'Good enough for a Spider-Man, but made for a Spider-Woman.'" 

Peter tapped at Felicia's thigh. With MJ in the conversation, he was able to relax that crucial inch that'd proven so weird for him and Black Cat. "Hey, since she can't be here in person, how about we let Mary Jane decide what happens now... you know, with the sex?" 

"I like that idea." Felicia directed the camera phone at herself. "How 'bout it, Red? Wanna see Peter punish me for being such a bad kitty?" 

"Oh. Yes." On the phone, Mary Jane looked around, making sure she was on her own. "You know, last night Felicia, when he took you from behind?" 

"How could I forget?" 

"I thought he was fucking you in the ass. That he was sodomizing you. It... really turned me on." 

*** 

Mary Jane felt her body burn. Her phone was showing her Felicia's fingers gently caressing the pink of her sphincter with dripping lubricant. With her other hand, Felicia turned the phone to show Peter rubbing the same over his cock. Then it went back to those thief's fingers rediscovering the hidden pleasures of her body. Two of Felicia's digits were up to the second knuckle in her forbidden orifice. 

"Jesus..." MJ breathed. 

Felicia's voice shot from the phone's tiny speakers. "You know, I always liked it when Peter stuck one of his little trackers on my ass to find out where I went. I loved the thought of him watching me. I like you watching me too, Red..." 

Mary Jane bit her lip. "Have you ever done this before?" 

"In the ass, yes, but never with Peter. Never with someone so big..." 

"Oh, stop," Peter said in the background. 

"Wanna see?" Felicia asked. 

"Oh, God yes." 

Felicia put the phone on the ground, facing up. Mary Jane could see Felicia on her hands and knees, her parted legs and the lower half of her body. Then Peter came in, his cock wildly erect and glistening wetly. He slowly parted her tightly puckered asshole. Felicia gasped and jerked away reflectively, but Peter had set his palm down on the small of her back—his spider-grip kept her in place. MJ heard a laugh and could just imagine Felicia looking back to smile at Peter for his ingenuity. 

Then Mary Jane watched Peter's hips twitch, applying pressure. Not enough at first, but more came. More, and more, and more, until the tight little opening began to concede. His knob went in first, an inch of bulging flesh, a taste of what was to come. 

"Oh God," Mary Jane found herself moaning. "Fuck her. Shove that big bastard all the way up her ass!" 

*** 

Felicia was almost having second thoughts about taking Peter anally, but the tingling sensation she quickly felt eased her doubts. She'd done anal before, and the pleasure always outweighed the pain. Of course it would be the same with Peter. Or even better. And she really liked having MJ under them, in a sense, looking up at their fucking and loving it. 

"Fuck her, Peter!" Mary Jane was gasping, her lust-gnarled face tilted on the phone's screen. "Fuck her for me!" 

Ever willing to satisfy both of his loves, Peter guided another inch of his cock inside Felicia, the cat burglar panting and whining the whole way, in exaggerated pain and obvious pleasure. And a quiet gasp flew from Mary Jane as she saw Peter's throbbing cock sink into Felicia's hole as if it were being sucked in. 

"Oh God, Peter, look," Felicia breathed. 

Peter looked down at the phone. It no longer showed Mary Jane's face. The screen was a close-up of her cunt, cunning fingers moving through the softly curling red hair, massaging the pink slit, caressing the little bead of her clitoris, even dipping inside. The heaviness of MJ's breath was audible even over the phone. As was the wet sound of her pussy being touched. 

With a sharp, almost desperate cry, Peter rammed his cock home. He sank into Felicia like a knife through butter, her tight tunnel clinging to his cock, slowing it but not stopping him. Felicia roared in triumph as she took him, all of him, and Peter managed a dazed, incredulous laugh. He'd never felt anything like this before. The heat of it, the feeling of sweaty warm flesh instead of slick pussy, the taboo nature of what they'd accomplished—and while being watched, no less. It was amazing. Spectacular, even. 

*** 

Mary Jane had seen pornographic movies before, but never anything like this. Her body was being dragged along with the orgasmic scene before her, feeling or wishing it could feel everything they felt. Fire rushed through her quivering body as her juice-drenched fingers moved inside her, trying to match the penetration she saw on the phone she was spread-eagled before. 

"Oh shit, Peter, fuck her hard!" her voice came out hoarse, painful on her throat. "She's a whore, she loves being fucked, give her what she loves! Split the bitch open! Fuck her harder!" 

*** 

When Peter finally got all the way inside Felicia's heavenly ass, he held himself perfectly still, not wanting to do anything to ruin the moment. It seemed insane that he'd forced himself into Cat so brutally and she'd actually enjoyed it. But she was still moaning softly, panting with pleasure, and the feel of her soft warm body quivering deliciously around his cock was no chore for him either. 

He closed a hand in Felicia's beautiful white hair, pulled her head back gently, and lowered his lips to hers to fill her mouth with his tongue, as her hips strained back against his to make sure she had all his cock safely embedded inside herself. 

Then Mary Jane shouted her need and Peter knew what he had to do. He slowly pulled out of Felicia, her moaning all the while, Mary Jane wide-eyed at the lubricant glistening on his cock, and then he thrust himself back into her, driving an overjoyed cry out of Felicia. Again he withdrew, paused, and then jammed himself back into her with even more force. 

"YES!" Felicia was screaming herself hoarse, making her voice indistinguishable from Mary Jane's. "I want it! That's what I want! Fuck me like that! Faster, Spider, faster!" 

And miles away, Mary Jane felt vicariously every one of the deep, hard thrusts Peter sent into their shared lover. 

Peter actually managed to tear himself away from the sight of Felicia's ass parted by his cock, the hole stretched wide open by his invasion, and looked up to see their coupling in one of the mirrors Felicia had festooned the room with. The sight of them was a wild pornographic obscenity. Felicia, her negligee ripped down around her waist, helplessly pinned beneath him on all fours with her face lost between agony and bliss. Peter behind her, still wearing his dated suit, the tie loosened, pants around his ankles, the sweat standing out on his brow and staining his shirt. He let go of Felicia's magnificent hips, snagged the phone with a webline, and hauled it into his hand to point at the mirror. 

Now Mary Jane could see Felicia's half-open mouth in its needing moan, her silver hair tossed about like a hurricane, her mammoth breasts swaying beneath her with each deep thrust she took. 

"HOLY SHIT, PETER, LOOK AT HER!" Mary Jane's voice was that of a wild woman, totally depraved. "SHE FUCKING LOVES IT, PETER! SHE NEEDS IT! GIVE HER WHAT SHE NEEDS, TIGER, FUCK HER LIKE A BITCH IN HEAT!" 

Felicia nodded frantically, her own voice shrunken by the exhaustion of the sex. "Yes, yes, Peter, please—" 

One hand Peter put on Felicia's shoulder, to hold her up with his spider-proportionate strength. His other hand shoved the phone into Felicia's hand and pointed it at the mirror. "Let her see," he ordered roughly. Then he fucked her. 

Just then, Felicia wasn't the fantasy figure who so often proved his superior in the bedroom, the dom who'd brought about this threesome with him and Mary Jane. She was a quivering mass of flesh, all of it needing his cock, just kneeling there for him to relentlessly fuck his engorged manhood into. With one hand on her shoulder and one on her waist, he actually picked her up and bodily fucked her on his shaft, ramming her up and down on his aching cock until one of them gave into the mounting pleasure. 

"Oh God, I almost wish he were fucking your pussy," Mary Jane's voice rang out, guttural now. "So when he got home, I could suck his cock and taste your cream on him..." 

Felicia yowled, reaching under herself with her free hand to stroke her clit without mercy. Almost immediately, Peter felt a fluid warmth flowing down Felicia's legs and onto his own. Her asshole contracted with her orgasm; Peter felt sure the tightening vice her tunnel put on his cock would've crushed a normal man. With superhuman strength, he broke free of her grinding grip and rammed into her with violent, churning thrusts. 

"Fuck yes," Felicia grated her, her voice going. "Fuck me, hurt me, kill me with your cock, I LOVE IT!" 

Peter let her torso drop, gripping her hips with both hands to hold them in place for the rapid drive of his swelling cock deep into her body, over and over again, each punishing shot coming harder and faster. Felicia hung from his body, folded over at the waist, as if he were holding her up by the connection of their loins. Felicia had another orgasm, arms and legs shooting out stiffly like she'd been electrocuted, and her ass once more tightened like a noose on Peter's cock. 

"COME FOR US, BABY!" MJ screamed, her voice filling the room like she was there with him. 

"Yessssss," Felicia drawled, barely audible. 

"FILL FELICIA UP FOR BOTH OF US!" 

Peter screamed, finally, roaring like a cannon deep inside Felicia's hotly clenched ass. The white-hot cum filled Felicia to the cusp. His own erupting fluids shot back out of her ass, running over his twitching balls, down his legs, over Felicia's thighs. Felicia held the phone between her legs to capture the moment and a few drops fell on it. She'd lick them off later. 

Peter caught his breath, arms going numb holding Felicia off the ground. From long experience, he knew she'd want him to stay inside her as his cock shrank down, grew limp—finally slipped from her still clinging asshole with a sound like a kiss. Then he gently lowered Felicia to the ground. She laid there on her elbows and knees, ass in the air as if still wanting him to fuck her. 

And somewhere in a supply closet, Mary Jane threw her head back against a plaster wall in complete exhaustion, barely aware enough to enjoy the waves of climactic heat that massaged her limp body. She held the phone up to her ear. 

"Oh God, you fuckers. Peter, I don't think I've ever been turned on more than I was watching you fuck another woman like that." 

Peter and Felicia's exhausted, infectious grins were practically audible on her phone. "Does that mean Red would like someone knocking at her backdoor too? Like a baaaad girl?" Felicia asked. 

"It means..." MJ checked her watch. "Shit, I'm going to have to sprint through this building if I want to wash up before my audition. Wish me luck!" 

"Luck. Love you." 

"Get their names if you want me to blackmail them!" Felicia added. 

Mary Jane shoved her phone in her pocket and pulled herself to her feet. 

Well, at least she wasn't nervous anymore.



Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 04



"It's not that kind of dinner," Mary Jane said, Felicia just having shown up at her door in a trenchcoat and not much else—though the 'not much else' seemed prohibitively expensive at first glance. 

"You said your roommates weren't home." Felicia stepped inside, her walk seemingly designed to make her coat flutter open. "And that they were gay." 

"Yes, and they know how to party," MJ replied, a little smugly. 

Felicia groused "I wish I had some gay best friends. The best I can do is Gambit." 

"Doesn't he have that thing with Rogue?" 

"Yes, but he wears magenta. And he's one of the X-Men. Remember when they all moved to San Francisco?" Felicia planted herself on a couch. Mary Jane's apartment looked comfortable enough—not much to make you single it out as the home of three gay men and one woman of weaponized femininity, aside from the blasé attitude toward male nudity in the art prints on the walls. Score zero for stereotypes, Felicia thought. "So, if eating out is off the menu, we're, what, ordering in?" 

"I have a meatloaf in the oven," Mary Jane assured her. "But my main goal tonight is to get packed for the move before my roommates get back in the wee hours of the morning and things get crazy. So it's an all-purpose dinner slash packing slash decluttering kinda thing." 

Felicia nodded along. "When you said you wanted me to stuff your box, this wasn't what I pictured." 

"I never said that." 

"Yes, but if you had, it would've been hilarious." She vaulted to her feet, tying her coat resolutely shut. "'Decluttering'. Two dates and we're downright domestic. You really have this lesbian thing down." 

"Thanks," MJ said. "C'mon, I'll feed you first." 

"When you said you had some sweet meat for me—" 

"I'm not the one who makes all the innuendos, Felicia. Let's keep it straight." 

"She said under the poster for Priscilla, Queen of the Desert." 

"S'good movie..." 

*** 

If they were still rivals, Felicia would probably resent the fact that Mary Jane's meatloaf actually tasted good and was halfway healthy. Domestic goddess versus the leather-clad tramp—such a cliché. But, now that they were ménage a troing, she could both have sex with Mary Jane and enjoy her cooking. A good deal all around. 

"So you know when Peter's getting here?" Mary Jane asked. "He usually used to make it home in time for dinner." 

"Oh, he had a thing with the Avengers. Shipping out to Wakanda for the night. Said he'll be back by morning." 

"You're not..." MJ gestured noncommittally. "Going with him?" 

Felicia shrugged and helped herself to another serving. "I'm not an Avenger." 

"Still, you could tag along. Or go on patrol. Something." 

"Red, am I not being good company?" 

"You haven't said the word 'biotch' once, so you're very refreshing dinner conversation," Mary Jane assured her. "I just thought you'd be shadowing Peter, that's all." 

"I'm not gonna be his bodyguard," Felicia told her. "I don't mind the team-ups, but I don't want it to be a Thing. Living together is enough intimacy." 

Mary Jane pushed a slice of meatloaf around her plate. "I kinda thought you were like him. Great power, great responsibility, my city needs me—that sorta thing." 

Felicia shook her head, mouth full, then swallowed. "I do this for fun. Sure, it's nice to help people and beat up guys who could use a beating, but if I take a night off to get over a stomach flu," Felicia lurched into a B-movie voice, "the faces of those I've wronged won't start floating in front of my eyes." 

Mary Jane laughed. "Yeah, I gotcha. You're Chaotic Good and Peter's Lawful Good." 

"Hmm?" 

"You know, character alignments." 

Felicia craned her head. 

"AD&D?" 

"Advanced Dungeons and... Discipline?" 

"Dragons," Mary Jane corrected. "I played it a few times with Peter and some of his friends. Johnny Storm's a surprisingly good roleplayer." 

Felicia blinked. "You play Dungeons & Dragons with Peter?" 

"Yeah, I know, domestic bliss, right? He goes to spas with me, I watch MST3K with him—" 

Felicia was mildly aghast. "Honey, I let him fuck me in the ass, but you—you need some boundaries. You are the goddess woman-spirit. You were not put on this Earth to play AD&D." 

"Whatever keeps him from swinging around the city with his arm in a sling," Mary Jane said, giving Felicia the whole story. 

Felicia nodded. "Yeah, I love the silly bitch, but can we agree the guy needs to loosen up?" 

"I wouldn't say that..." Mary Jane hedged, getting up to take their empty plates to the sink. 

Felicia put her feet up on the cleared table. "What would you say?" 

"That he needs to loosen up. Just not... like that." 

"I'm not saying he needs to sell crack to orphans, just that the man could afford to be a little more... 'Chaotic Good'." 

Mary Jane turned on the tap water and her voice rose above it. "I wasn't saying you were saying that—" 

"What were you saying?" 

"I'm getting to that." MJ scrapped off a dish. "I want him to be less neurotic, I want him to feel less guilty, but Peter's a very responsible person. He's got a moral compass that points true north; he'd be Captain America's sidekick if Steve was hiring. And I like that about him." 

"I like that too!" Felicia protested. "I mean, I'm thrilled that he's not cheating on you and we can all be this Thing without him—wearing black leather and growing out his stubble and slapping around J. Jonah Jameson..." 

"But you want to change him." 

"Don't you?" 

Mary Jane turned the water off. "I want to make it easier for him to be him. He's a pretty great guy—even with the AD&D and the responsibility kick and the faces of those he's wronged floating before his eyes..." She raised her hands over the soaking dishes like a wizard casting a spell. "Don't take this the wrong way, Cat—I know you're in love with him. But I don't think you quite know who it is you're in love with." 

Felicia stood, hands on her hips like she was about to fire off a rejoinder, but she pursed her lips instead. If there was anyone she could concede a point to, however silently, it was Mary Jane Watson. 

"Hey." MJ came over and took Felicia's hands, her own warm with water and suds. "That's not a bad thing. You have the rest of your life to get to know him—to fall more in love with him—to go on this journey, with both of us. Just know what you're in for. He's a Hero. Not just a superhero—a real, Joseph Campbell Hero. And that's not an easy thing. It was almost too much for me, once." 

"And now?" Felicia asked. 

"Now I see what kind of person he makes me and what kind of hero I make him. I belong with Peter. It's my destiny." 

"Baking meatloaf for a man to eat after he beats up Doctor Octopus?" Felicia asked dubiously. 

"I know," Mary Jane grinned like she wanted to giggle. "It's not special. I'm not the chosen one or an A-list star or... Beyonce! That's the point. With Peter, I can just be me. That's enough. And be honest. Doesn't Peter make you feel a lot more special than if you were Shang-Chi or whatever?" 

Felicia grinned, and was ashamed to realize it was more a doofy smile than a seductive one. "Is this girl-talk? We having a talk of girls?" 

"Not a lot of girlfriends growing up?" 

"Nope." 

Mary Jane glanced at her cleavage. "Wonder why." 

"But once I got into college and I realized that tingly sensation from looking at Elisha Cuthbert wasn't just wanting to be able to rock a tanktop like she did—" 

"Oh, you had sex with women?" MJ gasped in surprise. "I'm shocked! Ice cream or packing?" 

"If I help with the packing, can I eat the ice cream off you?" 

"If I just say yes now, will you stop with the double entendres?" 

"Almost entirely." 

"Deal." 

"Okay!" Felicia cheered. "Let's go stuff your box!" 

*** 

"Pitch or keep?" Mary Jane asked, holding up a black rectangular box Felicia took a moment to recognize. 

"Is that a VHS player?" 

"Yes." 

"Pitch." 

"But..." Mary Jane pouted. "How else will I play my video tapes?" 

Felicia stared at her. "A wizard magically turned them into these things called Blu-Rays. I'll get you some." 

"They're not all The Princess Bride," Mary Jane said, protectively digging the box of tapes out of the closet. "I've got Spider-Man's wedding in here, the first soap opera I ever played in, our sex tape..." 

"Okay, we're definitely keeping it. Tapes can stay, I'll have Peter convert them to something millennial. But that player is going." 

Mary Jane put it on the pile. "I meant what I said earlier." 

"That there was a sex tape? There'd better be." 

MJ opened another box. Gifts from Aunt May. Keep. "About us being on a journey. There's no more—Team Mary Jane or Team Felicia." 

"Please tell me no one has said those phrases." 

"There's just Team Spider," Mary Jane insisted. "We're like sisters or something." 

Felicia snapped her fingers. "Like in the vampire sense where they sleep with each other." 

"Yeah!" 

"Cool." Felicia pursed her lips. "I've never had a sister. Lotta boyfriends. Never a sister." 

"Did you watch Gilmore Girls? I think it's kinda like that." 

Felicia pulled open her coat a little. "What about me says I watched Gilmore Girls?" 

"Fine, fine. Oh, hey, I've got this weird trick—" 

"Yeah?" Felicia asked, setting aside some old playbills to sit facing Mary Jane. 

"You know how you're dating someone, something comes up, you say 'we need to talk'—and it's like their penis retracts into their body?" 

"Yeah, it's like a genetic memory. I think there was a dinosaur that used to say that before eating men." 

Mary Jane tilted her head to consider it. Stranger things had happened. "Well, as hard as it is for you to believe having tasted my meatloaf, but I was quite the hellion once. I did not go in for the usual boyfriend-girlfriend stuff." 

"So?" 

Mary Jane looked around as if someone might be eavesdropping. "Don't tell anyone else this, I don't want it to get out, but—sometimes I'll say 'we need to talk,' but then instead of telling him I found his porn stash or something, I pull him into the bedroom, take off my shirt—'we need to talk about these boobs.'" 

Felicia laughed. "What would Peter's porn stash look like? Don't tell me—Black Widow?" 

MJ shook her head. "You're not following. See, somewhere in the caveman part of his brain that likes Jason Statham movies, he's thinking of other women who said 'we need to talk' and gave him the riot act, and then he's thinking of me, who said it, and then gave him boobs. It's like entering a cheat code in The Sims. I give him a five minute blowjob, suddenly we have a relationship like Nick Offerman and Megan Mullally." 

"They seem so cute together." Felicia scratched at her ear. "So. did some evil genius share that with you when you were kidnapped?" 

"No, I'm evil enough on my own." 

"No wonder he stayed with you so long. Christ! You had the boy hypnotized!" 

"Come off it." Mary Jane flipped her hand dismissively. "It's not like I kept the Ms. Marvel outfit or anything. That would've been cheating." 

"Kept?" 

Mary Jane shrugged. Dug into another box. "Oh God, scale model of the Spider-Mobile, why did I keep this?" 

"Why wouldn't you?" Felicia asked. She picked through her own box. "Commemorative Godzilla glasses from Burger King. Pitch." 

"Those could be worth something on eBay!" 

"Pitch." Felicia decisively added them to the pile. 

For a few minutes, they picked through boxes, the silence a little strained. Before, Felicia would've attributed the tension to Peter. They'd both slept with the same man. Now, that was part of their bond. So it wasn't that. 

"Hey, Red?" Felicia called. "I do like to play the slutty girl in leather with the big tits, but—I know people don't do projects like these without any procrastination. Not unless there's a lot of energy and they don't know what else to do with it. So if you want to talk... I mean, I'm no Peter Parker, but—" 

"The producers were going to call me today," Mary Jane interrupted. "If I got the part. Hard call to wait for." 

Felicia looked at the clock. It was late. Really late. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I just felt so invincible," Mary Jane said. "With you, and Peter, everything seemed to be sorting itself out. I thought my lucky streak could keep going for one more day, just one, then—" 

The phone rang. 

While Mary Jane sat there, paralyzed, Felicia scrambled up with a thief's reflexes, plucked the handset from its cradle, and shoved it against MJ's ear. 

"Hello?" Mary Jane said numbly. "Mary Jane Watson speaking? Yes. Uh-huh. Yes. Oh, that's great. I'm looking forward to it. Okay. Bye." 

Felicia took the phone away, suddenly hearing its dial tone. "Well?" 

Mary Jane hugged her. Their breasts pressed together, but there wasn't any sex in it. Felicia wasn't used to that. No tension, no sensuality, just the warmth of friendship. Sisterhood. 

"I got the part," MJ said. 

*** 

A Saturday evening—the night club was packed. A hot spot to begin with, it burst into supernova with the weekend crowd, the rich and famous. Peter didn't think he'd get in, but Felicia and Mary Jane dragged him by both arms, past the long line of wannabes and never-woulds, and didn't even break stride as they pulled him past the waving bouncer. 

Inside, everyone was just a bit too young for Peter to consider a contemporary. The glitzy red and blue neon hurt his eyes as much as it thrilled them. The deejay was loud, the champagne bar was obscenely priced. Peter discretely smeared some webbing over his ears to subdue the blaring dance rap. He wasn't here for the music. He was here for the girls. 

Felicia and MJ wore body-hugging minidresses like the metal in a furnace, trapping the fire inside but letting the heat waft off them. Just looking at them, Peter felt drugged. High on the atmosphere alone. He'd never been that guy, never wanted to be that guy, never much liked that guy to begin with. But seeing the dude clubbers look at them, look at him like they wanted Puny Parker's life—it wasn't the worst. 

Mary Jane and Felicia were like the Secret Service, he was like the President. They ushered him through the club chaos until hitting a booth. There was one of those white rappers in it. He left as soon as he saw Felicia coming. Then all three of them were packed in, finding respite in the shadows from the red floods that filled the room like lightning. Peter didn't hear the music so much as feel it throbbing inside him. 

Felicia put her feet up. "We need shots! Bring vodka!" 

A waiter nodded, more from lip-reading than anything else. Felicia laughed and Mary Jane tugged the blonde's hip-hugger down her legs a few crucial inches, keeping everything covered. 

"I think I've figured out your cunning plan," Peter said, somehow making himself heard over the din. 

Mary Jane was next to him, already kissing his neck, hand twisting on his knee. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah—basically, you're going to make us all look like such sluts that we're in a menage a trois while Felicia does Spider-Man on the side. Then we'll all move in together and no one will suspect my secret." 

"It's a good plan!" Felicia cried. "I like it!" 

"I wouldn't expect it to work," Peter said, "but then, I wouldn't expect Tony to use a satellite to wipe everyone's memories of him being Iron Man, so screw it, yeah, let's go for it." 

"And let's celebrate Red getting the fucking part!" 

Felicia's vodka arrived. She stood to take it, didn't sit back down. Instead, Peter and Mary Jane watched as her hips began to move. Then the rest of her body. Slow, sexy, controlled when so many of the idiots on the dance floor were freaking out. Peter tried to keep from gaping as she gyrated in front of him, all seduction, finally turning around. Teasing her way back to him. 

"Of course," she said, pushing his head back with one finger, "for the plan to work, we have to be seen together. Acting intimate." 

His mouth was open. Felicia poured vodka into it. Then Mary Jane's mouth was on his, kissing a shot off his tongue. Felicia displayed a naughty smile as she poured a long gulp of vodka onto their dueling tongues. 

"All three of us," Felicia added. She took Mary Jane's hand and pulled the redhead away from Peter. They grinded together, Mary Jane shimmying her way down Felicia's body, then wiggling back up it—her swinging ass in Peter's face—Felicia rewarded her by tipping the bottle into her mouth, making the model chug as Felicia licked the sweat from her gulping throat. The tonguing almost became a kiss, but Felicia tapered her tongue off Mary Jane's chin and moved the bottle to her own mouth, sucking the vodka out of the bottleneck... as Mary Jane kissed the bottle. 

Peter watched as if hypnotized, glad he was sitting behind a table as Mary Jane licked the bottle's mouth with Felicia, dancing again, a mish-mash of high fashion and sculpted flesh, tanned limbs and pale, the woman he loved and the woman he loved. 

Suddenly, Felicia bolted away from Mary Jane, holding the bottle high, claiming Peter's lap. The last third of the vodka sloshed in its glass home as she waved it about. "Tell you what, Parker." She dropped her hand to his crotch. Rubbed. "I'll keep doing this as long as you keep chugging." 

The vodka was gone in one go. Peter nearly came in his pants. Then Felicia was spinning away from him, a nymph fleeing from a satyr, embracing Mary Jane, picking her up and spinning her around and locking their mouths together—throwing away the key. 

Peter joined them, kissed one, the other, both... moaning as their two tongues slipped over, around his own. Peter lost a hand in Mary Jane's hair, fisted it, pulled her head back, then took Felicia by a hand at the nape of her neck and pressed her lips back to Mary Jane's, the two kissing as he circled, pressed himself against Felicia from behind. She felt his conspicuous bulge between her buttocks. 

Mary Jane swayed invitingly in Felicia's arms as the thief cooed back against Peter, playing with his tie like a cat with a string. "Christ, Peter, you and the vodka have got me so hot—" Mary Jane kicked her a little. "And Red, of course. Are you gonna fuck me right here on the dance floor?" Felicia looked down at her crotch, almost exposed by the high hem of her dress. "I know a certain someone who likes that idea... an old friend of yours, in fact..." 

Then, laughing, Felicia shoved her ass back and bumped Peter away. He stumbled back, the vodka hitting him like a charge from the Rhino. He fell on his butt and watched Felicia and Mary Jane dance above him, the electric currents of their lips and bodies running together. He put a hand on Mary Jane's bare leg, playing the smooth skin like a flute. Mary Jane let Felicia practically dry-hump her as she put out her leg like Angelina Jolie at the Oscars... Peter bit her thigh and the women both laughed as they pulled him back up, Mary Jane's dress too short to cover the hickey on display. 

Like a diver caught in a whirlpool, Peter was pulled to the center, swept onto the crowded dance floor along with them as Felicia and Mary Jane grinded on either side of him, their hands consuming him, Felicia tagging away any frat jerk or thirsty co-ed who tried to step into their perfection. 

Peter had never felt so blissful. He didn't even want to have sex—at least, not beyond the slow fire that burned in him with their names, heating into an inferno whenever he saw either one. He wanted to stay in this moment, when having a drink didn't make him sick, but left him loose and massage-warm, when he didn't have to be a disguise because they both understood, when he could be as uninhibited as Felicia, as infectiously happy as Mary Jane. 




Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 04



The three of them spun and whirled, Saturday Night Fever remade with a two hundred million dollar budget, all quirk and fun, Peter dancing with Felicia, then Mary Jane, Felicia again, then Darcy Lewis—hipster chic with glasses like he'd used to wear, a T-shirt with a Captain America propaganda poster from back during the war... and of course, skinny jeans. 

"I leave you alone for five minutes..." 

"It was a lot more than five," Felicia interrupted, hugging Peter from behind, pulling Mary Jane with her in her undertow. "Who are you? One of Peter's friends? Are you as much fun as firecrotch here?" 

"Darcy Lewis? I interviewed you yesterday." 

Felicia nodded mock-solemnly. "Sounds like fun. Wanna dance?" 

"Nah, I just used up all my dance moves." Darcy stepped away from Peter, Felicia and MJ flanking him now, the four of them statues inside the revelry. "So, Spider-Man's personal photographer starts hooking up with the webster's old flame. That is whack. And Peter, you're back with the supermodel. Wonder if Spider-Man will get back together with his ex too." 

Peter shrugged. "It's a free country, now that Norman Osborn's gone." 

"Anyway, use protection, enjoy your kinky hook-up sex, fellow millennials." Darcy gave some air quotes that Peter thought were misused, then went back toward the bar. The deejay ended his current set, dropping the lights down to dusk, and a slow R&B song started playing. To Peter, it sounded like Boyz II Men, which meant it definitely wasn't and he should get more up to date on urban culture. 

Mary Jane was swaying gracefully even before Peter turned back to her. He extended his forearms. She took them. 

"Is she Lois Laning you?" MJ asked. 

"She might be Lois Laning me," Peter admitted. 

"Hate to kill someone with a rack like that," Felicia said. They stopped dancing and looked at her. "Kidding! Her rack isn't that great..." 

"Let's just enjoy the evening," Peter said. "We can always murder later." 

Felicia grabbed another bottle of vodka from a passing waiter, leaning against the wall as Peter and Mary Jane danced in front of her. 

"You asked me to marry you once, remember?" MJ breathed into Peter's hair as they danced in tight embrace. His hands read invisible braille across her bare back. 

"More than once," Peter replied, feeling her slender arms slipping up to his neck. His face dipped down to hers, his lips crossed her cheek to her mouth. "Who's counting, though?" 

"Can I still say yes?" 

Peter's head shot up an inch, though his reaction was impressively restrained. Mary Jane continued to sway with him and he gave in to continuing the dance. "You can have anything you want, MJ. You know that." 

"I figure it shouldn't be too hard to find a justice of the peace before I'm due on set. Felicia can be the witness... we can do the ceremony any time. I just want to be yours. Your wife, your fiancé—whatever." 

"Does this mean I get to the mistress?" Felicia asked, swaying mockingly with her bottle of vodka. 

Mary Jane broke away from Peter, hand going down to her garter belt and the box she'd felt there all evening. She opened it. There were two rings inside. "They belonged to his parents," MJ said. "This was his mom's engagement ring, this was her wedding ring. I figure I won't need an engagement ring if we're getting hitched tonight." 

Felicia took it. Her eyes didn't dew up. They just closed softly. "Fuck, this feels heavy. Okay. Okay. I reserve the right to steal a better ring later, but..." Felicia slipped her necklace off, opened it, slid off the teardrop diamond it displayed, and put the engagement ring in instead. Then she put her new necklace around her neck. Dipped its cold weight between her breasts. 

She left her head, still unsentimental. "So why didn't you two get married in the first place?" 

"A fat guy fell on me," Peter explained. 

Felicia shook her head. "Your lives are so stupid." 

Mary Jane grabbed the ring from between Felicia's breasts, digging her finger into it as she pulled the blonde close, into an embrace with her and Peter. They kissed both of her cheeks and Felicia felt Peter's callused hand on one leg, Mary Jane's soft small one on the other. She knew she'd been wise not to wear panties. Something buzzed against her hip. 

"Ooh, Spider," she whimpered, "you brought toys for our playdate? After all these years of talking about your spider-sense; finally going to makeme tingle?" 

"It's my phone," Peter said, taking it out of his pocket. "I have it set to check Twitter for breaking news about crimes in progress or disasters..." He continued, checking the scrolling feed. "There's an apartment fire five streets over. I'll be right back." 

"I'm coming with," Felicia said immediately, but MJ held them tight. 

"You're not going anywhere. Darcy's at the bar, watching you two like a hawk. If she is Lois Laning, how hard do you think it'll be for her to make a connection between you two slipping out and Spider-Man showing up on the Black Cat's arm?" 

"We need a distraction," Peter said, looking at the cat burglar expectantly. 

"I don't think me slipping a nip is going to get attention off me." 

"I'll handle it," Mary Jane said. "Give me thirty seconds, then slip out the back." Then, because there was no way Felicia was 'the sexy one' in their triad, she gave Peter a good long manhandle of the ass. "And bring this back in one piece. I have plans for it." 

Felicia said something about how she'd love to bring MJ's plan to fruition—clearly meaning 'orgasm'—then Mary Jane had her back to them and was walking to the bar. Darcy spotted her coming and held up a flute of champagne, toasting her as she came into range. 

"You here to tell me to stay away from your boyfriend? Because he's not my type and if he was, you wouldn't stand a chance." 

"Do I look like I'm worried about Peter being with other women?" Mary Jane asked, leaning against the bar as Peter and Felicia disappeared into a darkened corner of the club, hands all over each other, but still visible. "You're a reporter, right?" 

"Not really. I'm a gossip columnist." 

"And you're interested in Felicia?" 

"Ever since Tony Stark started being a regular thing with his secretary, she's the most interesting superhero hook-up around. I keep hoping she'll score with Captain America." 

"Well, right now she's scoring with us. How'd you like an exclusive about that?" 

Darcy looked her up and down, scanning more for any subterfuge than for how Mary Jane filled out her dress. "Is it juicy?" Okay, maybe a little bit how Mary Jane filled out her dress. 

"It's very juicy. Is there someplace private we can talk?" 

"Ladies' restroom." 

"I said private." 

"Alright, men's restroom." 

*** 

The men's room was temporarily deserted. Darcy kept it that way, taking a CLOSED sign out of her purse and slapping it on the door before stepping through. Inside, she took out a door wedge and slammed it into the doorsill. "Alright," she said, turning to Mary Jane, "what's the scoop?" 

"Off the record? This is how Peter likes to be kissed." 

Mary Jane's kiss was fast and urgent, insistent almost to the point of violence, but surprisingly sweet. Mary Jane had prided herself on being a seductress, of commanding the attention of every man (and quite a few women) whenever she walked into a room. Now she was a serious actress—a wife—but she'd been sending low-key signals to Darcy from the moment she'd started walking to the bar. Even if Darcy hadn't realized it, she'd responded. 

And now the kiss was a full-court press, and Mary Jane could tell, just like with a man, that Darcy had given in. Unconditional surrender. She could hear Darcy's blood boil, her heart race, even louder than the music pulsing through the door. 

With Darcy giving in, Mary Jane pursed her hands under Darcy's thighs and picked her up with all her spin class muscles, heaving her onto the sinks, stepping into her parted legs, closing near to her lips. "And now do you wanna know how Felicia likes being fucked?" 

Darcy nodded eagerly. Mary Jane smiled at her, like a proud teacher with a prize student, and fondled Darcy's breasts—plucking at each nipple, eliciting sharp gasps, pleasurable jolts from the brunette. Darcy tilted her pelvis to press her sex against Mary Jane's thigh, shivering hotly at the new pressure winding into her body. 

"You know what Peter and Felicia both like, though?" Mary Jane asked, quite rhetorically. 

"What?" Darcy gasped. 

Mary Jane flicked her dress's straps from her shoulders and pulled her mini down to bare her well-proportioned breasts in their bra. Darcy pushed her hands aside and handled the bra for her, squeezing her thighs on Mary Jane's long, lean leg as one hand mauled MJ's breasts, the other peeled a strap down her creamy shoulder. And just as Darcy pulled Mary Jane's bra away, MJ kissed her again, hiding the sight from her—Darcy had to close her eyes in pleasure, sucking MJ's long tongue into her mouth, feeling the effects in her sex like it was down her throat, probing into her cunt from the inside. 

Darcy felt herself bloom with a small, fast orgasm that left her panting, the feeling lingering, burning between her legs like it was still going. 

"Was that a hot enough scoop for you?" Mary Jane asked, the dazed reporter nearly tipping over and falling off the sink MJ had deposited herself on. 

"First rule of journalism," Darcy gasped, her cunt still squirming on Mary Jane's thigh. "Confirm any story by more than one source." 

Mary Jane pushed Darcy back, dinging her a little against the mirror, and slowly peeled away her bra. She'd never been prouder of her C-cups than seeing Darcy, who had the breasts of a fertility goddess, get all moony over what she was packing. Darcy ducked down, catching MJ's nipple in her mouth. 

Mary Jane stroked her long black hair as she suckled. "Oh God, you're just as much a breast man as Peter—there, there's a scoop for you. You reporters can ferret information out of anyone..." 

She broke the belt on Darcy's skinny jeans, tugged at the denim until they finally rolled off Darcy's mountainous hips; then a pair of boxer shorts were all that were in her way. She pulled them off and Darcy stopped suddenly, looking up at MJ with a goofy grin. 

"My readers will want to know what your cunt tastes like." 

Mary Jane obligingly backed up, raising her dress with her hands, revealing the pretty pink panties caressing her pubis. Darcy nearly fell getting off the sink—she knelt down between Mary Jane's open legs, pulled off her panties, and looked inside Mary Jane, finding her wet, pink, her clit erect, her scent incredible. Mary Jane didn't give her long to look. She tugged at Darcy's hair until the girl's hot mouth was on Mary Jane's hotter pussy. 

Her tongue stiff, Darcy stabbed into Mary Jane's slit and licked at her abundant juices. MJ leaned back against the air dryers, kicking her leg out so her heel was on the rim of the sink. Darcy crouched before her like an devotee, wet kisses smacking on Mary Jane's thighs and groin, her head twisting to push Mary Jane's legs further apart. 

"Fuck, you've got a good mouth," Mary Jane cried, her voice so strained she sounded almost agonized. "As good as Peter's... as good as Felicia's... keep doing that, I'll start thinking you want me to come!" Then MJ thought of something Felicia had done to her on their first night together. Something she never would've thought would make her come so hard. "Open your legs. Open your legs, Darcy—I want to get to that cunt." 

Mary Jane's heels clicked back down to earth, before Mary Jane pressed the pointed toe of her Louboutin to Darcy's core. Darcy clamped her thighs tight, almost preventing it from burrowing into her. but it was in her and it felt better than her last boyfriend, penis, fingers, or tongue. She felt like she was still cumming... no hurry at all to it. No end in sight. 

"Yes, yes—" Mary Jane muttered gently, thrusting her cunt into Darcy's tongue, squirming her naked ass against the cold tile of the wall—wiping away bits of Sharpie'd graffiti that she'd find running down her legs during her shower the next morning. Her voice rose. "Yes!" She clutched Darcy's head between her legs, her breasts in her hands. "YES!" Her beautiful face became a mask of lust somehow even more beautiful. "YES! YES! YES!" she howled, her shouts rocking the walls, her hips flashing against Darcy's face, Darcy reaching an equally frenzied orgasm as her tongue slashed into Mary Jane like she was hacking through a dense jungle. 

The redhead sighed and relaxed, feeling wet, feeling like she'd just stepped out of the shower. Her thighs shimmered with her juices, as did Darcy's—Darcy's face was wet with her cream, and when Mary Jane drew her in for a kiss of sudden ardor, so was her own. Darcy helplessly felt her arousal spike again. 

"Take that shirt off," Mary Jane ordered. "I'm not leaving this restroom without seeing those tits." 

Darcy was quick to obey. Mary Jane was quicker to act. She caught a fat tit in both hands and swirled around the turgid nipple with her tongue, sucking and licking at Darcy's incredible breasts like she would never see another pair in her life. 

"You're really good at breastplay," Darcy breathed, her fingers clenched in the shirt she was holding up to keep herself from masturbating herself. She wanted Mary Jane to do it. "Do you give out blowjobs too? I think it's the same skillset. I know a girl whose name was Blowjob Sally, and she made me see God using my nips as jawbreakers." 

Mary Jane kissed every bump around Darcy's nipple. She didn't look up. 

"No comment," Darcy sighed. "That's cool..." 

*** 

"Is everyone out?" Peter asked, tugging his mask up to his nose. It'd been a harrowing eight minutes, first getting to the apartment building in time, then diving in with Felicia. He'd run out of all but his emergency webbing, putting out small blazes so they could make their way inside and clear a path for those trapped inside. Felicia had a device in her belt that could pinpoint people's locations through unshielded walls—Peter suspected it was intended more for keeping tracks of guards than for fire rescue, but he'd taken it. Now the fire department had taken over, leaving the couple singed and soot-befouled, coughing up smoke as they rested on a neighboring rooftop. 

Felicia checked her device again. "There's no one." 

The building's top floor collapsed in on itself under the pressure of the firehose's spray. Peter winced. He really hoped Felicia was right. Popping his last cartridges into his webshooters, he called down to the fire chief on scene. "Hey, everyone out?" 

"Yeah, Spidey! Thanks for the assist!" 

The crowd that had gathered—those that hadn't already noticed him—turned to point, gossip, take pictures. Peter heard some scattered applause, mainly from those the EMTs were tending to. He'd saved a family of four. That was worth his hand having briefly been on fire. 

"Told ya so," Felicia said, drawing him into a kiss. That got a reaction from the crowd—cheering, wolf whistles, a few unsolicited suggestions that Peter considered quite rude. Then Felicia brought his hands to her breasts, which thrust into his palms, far too large for his fingers to eclipse. He squeezed them through the black leather and fur trim that half-covered their enormity. The shouted suggestions got louder. Or maybe those were in Peter's head. 

"Maybe we should take this someplace private?" Peter suggested when Felicia let up on his lips a moment. 

"Why? We need to sell this thing." Cameras flashed down below, the tiny lights dimpling Felicia's magnificent, half-shadowed body. "I think we're doing a very good job..." 

"There's selling a relationship and then there's public indecency..." 

Felicia jumped up, wrapping her legs around him. Peter found his hands on her ass, so often overshadowed by that famous bust, but spectacular in its own right. Down on the street, it sounded like a riot was breaking out. 

"And then there's filming a sex tape in public." Peter raised his hand and fired off a webline, trying not to think of what Freud would say. 

Felicia still clinging to him, he took a swing, lips constantly barraging his neck and face as he whistled through the air. He quickly put on some altitude, which coincidentally made Felicia clench tighter around him—feeling his hard cock prodding into her belly. Peter looked around for somewhere to set down and finding a shadowed skyscraper with a collection of gargoyles on its summit. 

He landed on its northern face, sticking to the wall with Felicia pressed up against it. He jammed her against the cement, gyrating his hips so he ran his cock against her leather-clad groin, returning her kiss now with vigor. Felicia was panting, gasping for breath. Letting go of his body, trusting his embrace to hold her up, she whipped open her costume—drawing her arms out of the sleeves until the abbreviated top was dangling off her like a set of undone suspenders. 

Naked from the waist up, save for her gloves, she licked his face then clawed her fingers into the walls, using her metal nails to pull herself up onto the rooftop. Peter scurried after her, catching her just as she stepped out of the rest of her costume—he'd seen her in just her boots, gloves, and mask so often, it was like her alternate costume in a fighting game. 

"Seventy stories up," Felicia breathed, the night air howling behind her, a far better soundtrack than the muffled shouts and sounds of traffic far below. "That private enough for you?" 

Peter undid his pants from his top. "God, I hope Nova doesn't fly by..." 

"I wouldn't mind. He's cute." As soon as his pants were falling, Felicia dug her claws into Peter's shoulders and flung him to the ground. He landed on his back and Felicia landed on him, straddling his hips, positioning her white-tufted pussy above his stiff prick. 

"Fill 'er up," she told her favorite gas station attendant. 

Peter's hands massaged her breasts, keeping her nipples at a constant throb as she lowered herself onto his cock—felt her labia stretch wide to accommodate him, grip his shaft tightly as she slid down its great heft. Every time they fucked, she felt a little surprised she could take such a monster. But finally, her panting breath steaming in the cool air, she settled down at the base of his prick. She felt his reassuring width deep inside her, stretching her out, making a home in her. He was pulsing inside her and she could feel it, like a great big bell being rung between her legs. 

"That's it, lover. Keep that cock in my pussy. I just gonna sit here and feel your big cock inside... stretching me tight... fuck, that feels good." 

She dropped her head down to his chest, wrapping her arms around his trim shoulders. For a blissful eternity, his mouth was on hers, his tongue hers to pleasure her as she wished. It was almost perfect. She opened her eyes, seeing her own lovely face reflected in the lenses of his mask, and realized what was missing. 

"No need for this anymore, Peter Parker," she said, ripping away what was left of his mask. She tossed it aside—Peter, quick-thinking as always, affixed it to the rooftop with a small jot of webbing. 

"Don't you like it?" he asked, starting to groan as she pumped herself onto his cock in short, clever motions. "Wearing the masks—doing it as 'Spider-Man and the Black Cat'?" 

"That's fun, but it's gotten a little old... I'm ready to try Peter for a change." She laughed, almost hysterical. "Parker's peter..." 

Peter moaned, Felicia began to pant as she rode his cock. Her hands came down, claws embedded in the cement by his head, giving her something to hold onto as she thrashed... shocked with every jolt of pleasure his deep-set cock gave her sex. 




Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 04



"Fuck me, Peter!" She loved using his name. "Fuck that big cock into my pussy, Peter, and fill me with all your cum! Pound me with cock! Fill me with cock! Goddamnit, Peter!" 

Peter bucked up into her as she slammed herself down on him, his strength nearly sending her flying off him. She was riding him at a gallop now. Peter forced himself to slow, as good as stuffing himself into her felt, and undulated below her instead, picking her up and settling her back down with his dancing body. 

"Better cum inside me, Peter," Felicia taunted. "Mary Jane said she wants to taste your cum all over my pussy, so you'd better fill me up—fill me to the brim!" 

Peter had been gripping the parapet of the building—now he felt it crumbling in his hands. Too strong. He slapped his hands onto her asscheeks, gripping them tightly, pumping her atop his cock as hard as her pelvis could take. Felicia whooped in a combination of pain and pleasure—he quickly relented, even though she groaned in dismay. Instead, he groped one of her asscheeks, pulling it away from her crevice, and used his other hand to tease her asshole. 

"Ohhhhhh yes," Felicia moaned with pleasure. She pulled her claws out of the rooftop and ran them over her supple body, tracing scarlet lines over her pale skin, drawing blood in some places. "That's it, Peter. Ream out my asshole. I'm not your wife, Peter—I'm your whore. Fuck me like a whore!" 

Peter dug his finger in deeper, slowly battling the tight muscle until it gave in, letting him slip smoothly inside her. A second finger followed. Felicia grabbed him by the neck, hard enough to choke him, and threw herself down on his throbbing erection like she was trying to break into his body, ramming the base of his cock in a lustful frenzy. Every move she made was accompanied by an ecstatic grunt. 

"Come inside me, Peter! Come inside your whore! Give MJ plenty of seasoning for tonight!" Felicia slammed herself down around him, on all fours, feeling his cock so deep inside her she wondered how his fingers could fit in her ass. She had his fingers, his prick—all she needed now was his mouth. Felicia kissed him with all her hunter's appetite. 

His cum boiled out of his prick, shot into her receptive body to warm her from the inside out. Felicia quivered, the sudden rush of an orgasm like a lightning strike. Peter laughed down her throat as he pumped into her pussy, each thrust launching a hot spurt into her. Felicia shrieked into his open mouth, the two breathing the same breath as he painted every crevice of her pussy. 

"Say my name," Peter ordered, even his breath taxed by his still ongoing climax, his ejaculation tapering off inside her, but still pulsing into her sex. 

"Peter," she whimpered, collapsing atop him, using the dregs of her energy to tighten her limbs around his sweat-soaked body. "Peter, Peter, Peter—" 

His cock gave one last jump, a fresh rush of warmth deep inside her. She could feel it dripping out of her now. 

"Peter..." 

There would be more than enough for Mary Jane.



Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 05



Dear MJ, 

I'm writing this on my tablet, in the backseat of your car as you drive to the airport, Felicia in the passenger seat, pointing out landmarks from a tour guide. I think she wants you to stay. I know I do. But it's my job—my privilege—to support you and I could never be as selfish as to ask you to turn an opportunity like this down. So don't think for a second that we can't endure being apart from you. Even if I'm missing you already. I know I'm striking a bit of a contradictory tone here— 

You know me. I would spend every waking moment with you, if I could, but that wouldn't be good for us. You need to have your life and I need to have mine—we need to choose to live together, not have no other options. I'm making a mess of this—the last time we tried being together, I think we got some things wrong, and everything we did wrong I want to get right this time. I don't want you to feel left out. I don't want you to think anything you do or feel is unimportant, because it's important to me and it's important to Cat, even if she doesn't admit it. I know I've had a pretty crazy job over the worlds, you have always made me feel strong and capable and that's how I want to make you feel. 

I mean, my goodness, you're one of the leads in a two hundred million dollar movie. Don't think for one second I don't think that has its own pressures and challenges and a lot of BS that I'll never have to deal with. But you can handle it, I know you can. And whatever changes this makes for our life together, we can handle those too. As an... us. 

I'm going to write this out longhand and send it to you in England via air mail, so hopefully I'll have thought of a better way to phrase all this. Please don't ask to look at the first draft. It is getting deleted. 

I know, I know, our life together has been crazy and Felicia isn't going to simplify matters. But that's good, complicated is good. You're complicated and I love you to death. One good thing about said crazy life is that I know you can take care of things in England, and I can take care of things back here, even apart. 

I've been thinking about Gwen lately. Not in a bad way, a fearful way—I haven't been to the bridge—but I thought about the three of us, and Flash, and Harry... the Coffee Bean, Empire State University, all that. Things with Gwen were always simple, and I think I've been using that as a benchmark for a long time. Like love should be simple. But it wasn't simple, not really. She was lying to me and I was lying to her. How's that saying go? 'Romeo and Juliet wouldn't have lasted'? 

It's hard to write that down. Don't think that I resent her. I still have feelings for her, the same way I have scars. But if she were back, I would still choose you and Felicia. She wasn't the love of my life, you two are. Because my life didn't end with her. It went on. You stood by me, and Felicia fought for me, and as complicated and weird as things got, that's still love. 

I have no idea how to end this letter, so I'm not going to. I'm just gonna send what I've written today and send some more tomorrow. Maybe let Felicia write something. Probably not. I'm still not sure what I could have possibly done to deserve the two of you, so I can only assume that I've just gotten phenomenally lucky. Like a lottery winner or something. You hear about those lottery winners who waste it all on beer cozies or whatever? I don't want to be that guy. I'm gonna remember how lucky I am, always. 

*** 

"You could just use webbing, you know," Felicia said as Peter failed to bite through another length of duct tape, getting a tape-y taste all over his tongue. It looked so easy in the movies... 

"I like to advertise my identity a little more subtly than that." 

"You should wear looser pants, then." Felicia dug into her pea coat, taking out a glove for her costume, and slipping it on as she sauntered up to him. "Because that is totally Spider-Man's ass you're popping." 

"Popping?" 

She cut the duct tape with her claw. Peter affixed it to the top of the box he'd packed up. One more load for the movers Felicia had hired. Big burly Russians who had talked about how, if anyone asked, they were playing pool down at Cousin Marv's. Peter wasn't sure they were aware that they were just helping him move out of his apartment and into Felicia's. 

Peter picked up another widget for this combined spring cleaning and move. He'd never really gotten down to the nitty-gritty of pitching Ock's stuff. And he definitely didn't remember owning so many anime statues. He put it in one of the pitch bags. 

"Can't you go bug Reed Richards for something to just teleport all this junk to my place?" Felicia asked, sitting atop an ajar door like that was at all a natural human being pose. "This is boring." 

"It's my stuff. I don't want it to spend any amount of time in the Negative Zone. Also, secret identity." Peter picked up a yellowing paperback copy of A Princess of Mars. "Hey, I think this is mine." Ock had pitched most of his reading material, preferring a Kindle. Philistine. 

Felicia sighed. "Why do you insist on bringing a bunch of junk into my classy up-town apartment?" 

"It's not junk. This was actually a landmark achievement in sci-fi..." 

"Oh God..." 

"You can trace elements of Star Wars directly to this book..." 

"God," Felicia repeated. "Okay. Fine. But your room, remember? You have your room, MJ has her room, I have my room. Boundaries. That's how I'll survive being in love with nerd trash." 

"'She said lovingly'..." 

"I only love you for your body. Sure you want to do this right now, with MJ in the air? Seems a little, I don't know—" 

"Keeping busy is a good thing," Peter replied, boxing up a collection of old game cartridges. He'd probably put them in storage, see if the next time he moved he was mature enough to sell them on eBay or at a garage sale. "I'm not just going to brood about my problems. Not that Mary Jane being successful in her chosen field is a problem..." 

Felicia smiled wryly. "Sure you don't want to go brood on top of a church or something?" 

"I'm not Daredevil." 

"I can flirt with you, try to get you to eat my pussy, it'll be just like old times!" 

"If you want me to eat you out, you can just ask." 

"Here? I'd half-expect Norman Bates to be watching through a hole in the wall." 

"I congratulate your knowledge of film canon." 

"Oh, I know about the scariest film ever made? I must be Roger Ebert. Say, where are all the diamonds?" 

"Diamonds?" 

Felicia hopped down, bending her body this way and that to make a pantomime of looking for them. "And, you know, pearls, precious metals, occasional piece of artwork? Stuff I've stolen over the years and gifted to you, just as a thanks for all the sex?" 

"You couldn't send flowers?" 

"It's very hard to steal flowers. They grow in the ground." 

"Well, those diamonds..." Peter rubbed at his upper lip. "Man, those diamonds..." He scratched the back of his neck. "They were, technically—well, not just technically—stolen property, which I really don't... hold with..." 

"Peter." 

"I might've, you know, turned them over to the police." 

"Peter." 

"As Spider-Man, of course, just said that I busted up a fence or whatever and found these, here you go, I didn't give them your name, of course..." 

"I gave you presents and you returned them?" 

"You could think of it as me just giving gifts to the police. They work hard, you know." 

Felicia made a beeline for the door. "If that's how much you appreciate me, you can just pack up without my help!" 

"You weren't helping!" 

"I was motivating you!" 

*** 

Peter resolved not to call Mary Jane for relationship advice; he didn't know threesome etiquette, but that felt too much like the two of them ganging up on Felicia. So, in the classic Parker fashion, he decided to give her space—otherwise known as doing nothing and hoping it blew over. He kept going with the packing, let the Russians take the boxes down to the truck and divvy up the pitch pile, finally arriving at Felicia's place after convincing the he-was-pretty-sure-they-were-mobsters to stop for lunch at McDonald's, his treat. 

Felicia let him come up to her apartment. That was a good sign. 

"Sorry, was that a little—" Felicia smiled, like a cat caught staring at a fish. "I'm not trying to be a crazy ex. Even though I have been crazy. And your ex." 

"It's fine. I'm sorry. I didn't know they meant that much to you. I thought it was like, me and stealing, you and science... you wouldn't be impressed if I named a molecule after you, would ya?" 

"I don't know—would it be a hot molecule?" Felicia put her arms around his neck, hanging off him. She enjoyed having a boyfriend who was only slightly taller than her. Too tall and things got difficult. Too short and she couldn't respect them. Peter was just right. "Anyway, I vented to MJ, so we're cool now." 

They're ganging up on me. Knew I should've called her. "Wanna go on patrol? Beat up some bad guys? Possibly sustain grievous injury?" 

"No thanks, Responsibility Jones. I was going to take a nap and eat something covered in chocolate. Possibly you." She sauntered away from him—always so good at that. "By the way, you don't want me steal things for you anymore, right?" 

"Yes. I enjoy being vaguely obedient of the law." Peter winced as one of the passing Russian movers eyed him. "Not that the law is that great or anything..." 

"Well, I already got you something. This one could you keep, please?" 

"Of course, Phe. Just this once." 

"See? Mary Jane knew you would see reason." Grabbing him by a shirt cuff, Felicia pulled him into another room. Of course it had a bed. But all Felicia did was get on her knees and reach under it, pulling out a large disc-shaped object. Like a trash can lid painted red and blue. "Ta-da!" 

Peter recognized it. With the sinking feeling it gave him, how could he not? "Is that...?" 

"Captain America's shield? Yeah." Felicia grinned at him. "I know you're a fan." 

"Doesn't he, uh... doesn't he need that? For criminals?" 

"Eh, I'm sure he has a spare." 

"It's made of a unique adamantium-vibranium compound—" 

"And it gives you a warm fuzzy feeling that I would steal it for you?" Felicia interrupted. "Yeah. Don't worry, you don't have to steal anything for me. Just, you know—" 

"Eat you out," Peter said numbly. 

"We are such a great couple!" 

*** 

Avengers Tower was a state-of-the-art, heavily fortified headquarters where America's premier superteam could both defend from enemy attach and launch offensives against the most dire catastrophes. 

Peter Parker ran through it very quickly. 

"Tony!" he cried, nearly pancaking himself into the wall of the clean room. Through a glass window, Tony Stark was assembling a microchip like the world's smallest jigsaw puzzle. "I need a bro code moment." 

Tony made a minute adjustment of two decameters. "I'm a little busy..." 

"Tony, bro code! Now!" 

That was when Steve Rogers poked his head in. "Have either of you seen my shield?" 

"No," Tony said. 

"What he said," Peter said. Then, in a whisper, "was no." There. He hadn't lied to Captain America. 

"Well, let me know if you see it." 

Peter gulped as he left. He was still gulping—it was a big gulp—as Tony emerged from the clean room in his scrubs and plastic booties. 

"What is it, Parker? I could be creating a device that cuts off any video that asks you to Like or Subscribe right now." 

"Is that really necessary?" 

"I'm bored," Tony justified. Then his eyes took on a gleam that usually worried Peter. "Are there... shenanigans?" 

Peter took a deep breath. "Felicia stole Cap's shield and gave it to me." 

"So give it back." 

"I can't. It was a gift." 

"Pete, Cap needs his shield. When he throws his mighty shield, etc, etc. Kinda important that he actually has a shield for that." 

"I know, I know... what about that time you built him a solid-light shield?" 

Tony waved away the suggestion. "What about the time I built you a suit of powered armor?" 

"You went crazy and tried to imprison me in the Negative Zone." 

"Yeesh, hold that over my head forever." Tony stroked his goatee. "Just give it back." 

"I can't. Felicia is my... we're ladyfriends. I mean, she's my—you get from I'm saying." 

"Geez, Pete, there are other girls. Girls that don't steal iconic pieces of Americana—wait, is this the Black Cat we're talking about?" 

"Yes." 

"The Black Cat? Not some Black Cat V who's a Cuban woman and a member of X-Force, but the actual—" 

"Actual Black Cat." 

"Okay. Objection withdrawn. Niiiice." Tony slapped Peter's back. "Okay then, keep it. Steve would understand. If he weren't born before the invention of the Wonder-Bra." 

"I can't keep it, it's like his best friend!" 

"I'm his best friend." 

"You went crazy and tried to imprison him—" 

"Let it go," Tony interjected. "Okay. You can't keep it. You can't get rid of it." 

"Exactly." 

"What if I used a network of satellites—just a small one—to make your girl think she had never stolen Cap's shield—" 

"Tony, no." 

"Just think about it." 

"No satellites." 

"Okay then. That limits our options. I guess all that's left is to ask Steve if it's okay for you to have his shield." 

"Ask Steve—" Peter sputtered. "You want me to ask—my girlfriend stole from him and you want me to ask him if I can keep the loot? The loot, Tony!?" 

"If anyone would go for it, it'd be Steve." 

Peter's eyebrows drew together. "That's actually a good point." 

"Yeah, I know him pretty well, being his best friend and all." Tony jabbed a finger at him suddenly. "Don't say it—" 

"I wasn't going to say it." 

"Good." 

*** 

Steve's voice, as always, was calm, rational, and warm. "I'm not sure how my shield could help you with your relationship difficulties, but if it means that much to you, sure, you can borrow it for a while." 

"Oh, that's a weight off my shoulders." Peter collapsed onto the living room's couch, nearly hitting Luke Cage, who was nursing his baby. "I really didn't want to work it this way, Steve, I swear. It's just—I've been kind of a jerk before, so I'm trying to make up for it." 

"It's no problem, really. It's probably about time I try out alternatives anyway. You don't want to get stuck in a rut. Who knows what Tony could have cooked up with his solid-light shield by now?" 

"Exactly," Peter breathed. "Exactly. It's kind of a good thing. We'll just pretend we don't know Felicia took it, but in reality, we're all totally cool." He leapt up. "I should go. I have a lot of unpacking to do." 

"Thanks for telling me," Steve said. "And Peter?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Could you... send me pictures of it? Just once a day? So I know it's alright." 

"Yeah." Peter nodded slowly. "Sure..." 

*** 

Moving into a new apartment and unpacking was not just something you put on a to-do list. It was a long, painful process, like learning to walk again after a spinal injury. A week later, Peter was still forcing himself to find the time to unpack one more box... 

"I'm impressed with you, Peter," Felicia said, in the doorway of Peter's bedroom (it was bigger than his old apartment). She watched him unpack his things with a keen eye. 

"And I'm not even naked." 

"I thought for sure that you would've gone running back to Captain America with his precious shield. I was going to needle you about it." 

"What can I say?" Peter plugged in his ancient clock radio and set the time. "I'm a bad boy, Cat. A rebel." 

"Uh-huh." Felicia crossed the room to sit down on his bed, bouncing her butt on it experimentally. "Look, I know you're not a thief or a criminal. You're... not exactly a boy scout, but deep down, you're into following the rules and getting a pat on the head and eating your vegetables." 

"What's wrong with vegetables?" 

"Exactly." Felicia patted the bed next to her. Peter sat down. "I'm in love with you, Peter Parker. Even if you are a total square. I don't expect you to enjoy picking locks or not wearing underwear—" 

"Why would you not wear under—" 

"Ssh." Felicia put her finger to his lips. "I get that. But let's face it, there's a reason Darkhawk was an Avenger before you. You don't play well with others. Every so often, you walk on the wild side. And I really like that. You cutting loose and enjoying yourself. So let's meet halfway. I won't pull you too far out of your comfort zone and you won't pull me too far out of mine." 

"Well..." Peter said consideringly. "I do like it when you steal from bad guys instead of, you know, innocent people. Innocent museums. Et al." 

"And I like it when you fuck me on rooftops. Look, I know you don't want the shield. So how about you give it back to Rogers and I get you another present. Something with a receipt this time." 

"I promise I'll love it." 

"Yeah, you will. Who doesn't like pegging?" 

Peter shook his head. "I still don't know what that is." 

"For now, why don't you lie back? It's been a long day—I saw that fight you had with the Rhino on the news. I'll get some lotion, we'll see what we can do about those bruises." 

Peter unbuttoned his shirt, guessing that this would be a clothing-optional session. "A massage?" 

"No." Felicia winked at him. "Massages are legal. This would fall more under the category of prostitution." 

*** 

They didn't actually get to the 'prostitution', which was good, since Peter's finances were in the same dire straits as ever, even with his exciting new occupation of rentboy. But he was exhausted after the fight with Rhino, just too wired up to sleep, and having Felicia slather him up with hot oil and rub all feeling out of his muscles took care of that. He shut his eyes to enjoy the massage and kept them closed for a long, restful sleep. 

When he came awake, he found his pillow felt different. Not the lumpy thing he had automatically packed and promised himself he'd replace once he had some pocket money. No, this was soft, yet firm. He opened his eyes, reaching behind his head to pat it, only to find a warm, naked thigh in his hands. He looked to the side to see a glossy thatch of pubic hair. The giggles started shortly after. 

He looked down Randi's supple leg to see Bambi and Candi kneeling on the mattress, playing with his leaden cock through the thin bedsheet. All three of his neighbors were nude. Felicia sat nearby on the bean bag chair he'd had since college, filming through a Handicam. 

"Thought I'd send a little care package to Mary Jane," Felicia explained. "Some home-made cookies, a mix tape, and a little proof that you're in good hands. Three women to sub for one Mary Jane. That sounds about right, don't you think?" 

"Yeah," Peter said, boggling, his cock growing hard. Confusion and arousal—his life all over. "But how'd you talk them—" He looked at Randi. "How'd she talk you into this?" 

"Oh, Peter, we'd do anything for a friend." 

"We owe Felicia a favor," Bambi said. 

"And I've always wanted to know what all those hot bitches you date see in you," Candi added. "No offense." 

"None taken," Felicia interjected. "I fully admit I'm a hot bitch. Now, Peter, alright if we start?" 

Whatever resolve Peter had left after giving into Felicia and Mary Jane a few weeks ago was rapidly dissipating. He wasn't as attracted to Randi, Bambi, or Candi, nor did he have the same feelings for them, but the prospect of casual, no-strings-attached sex—with Felicia watching and Mary Jane in the loop as well—had its own brand of taboo thrill. "And you're sure MJ's okay with it?" 




Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 05



"Such a big sweetie..." Randi muttered warmly. 

"It was her idea!" Bambi cried. 

"She asked us," Candi confirmed. 

Felicia lowered the camera. "The only reason I didn't offer you up to these three sirens the moment she got on the plane was that I wanted her in private when I sent this to her. Her director's been running her pretty ragged, but she's finally got a day off, and I know for a fact that nothing's going to make that lonely trailer feel more like home than getting to watch you in action." 

Bambi nudged his veiled cock with her nose. "You're not gonna kick us out, are you Petey? We've been wanting to try this forever." 

Candi went further, licking him through the sheet. He shivered at the warmth and wetness of her tongue, the damp sheet now clinging to his manhood. "We'll be gentle. Promise." 

Peter took a deep breath. An open relationship, of sorts, with Felicia arranging the wife swaps. He was going to die. 

Well, it hadn't been so bad the first time... 

"C'mere," he told Randi, tilting his head back. She slid a creamy thigh over his face and there it was, a graceful little cunt all shaved for him. 

He brushed his mouth against it and she shuddered like a machine just starting up. She got a firm grip on the headboard as he let his mouth provide the suction, the tongue, and the teeth he knew she wanted. She responded in an energized whisper, panting his name, pressing her warming need to his mouth, giving him her juices fresh. She gasped, bucking her hips faster and faster against his face. His hands eagerly explored her from round bottom to silken breasts. 

Then Peter paused. Between the two of them, Candi and Bambi had dragged the bedsheets off his body, and his erection was no longer a tent but a flag pole. They shared it, ganging up on him with teeth that dragged over his thrilled nerves, warm saliva that covered him tight as a condom, tongues that whipped at him like gale-force winds. Felicia laid back in her seat, filming with one hand, the other down her pants. All around Peter was naked flesh, every line and curve arranged for pleasure, both to the eye and to the touch. 

Candi's face pressed in close next to Bambi's. "You want his cum or can I have it?" 

Bambi's lovely face shone with sweat already. "Between the three of us, I think he'll have enough for both! We'll take turns after he starts shooting." 

Candi nodded with a lewd smile. "Good. Because I want a mouthful—and I wanna see you take him down your throat." Her hand flying over his cock, Candi offered Peter to Bambi's mouth. She gave it a few quick sucks, then Candi had it twitching in her mouth again as she sucked as hard as she could. She slurped her way right off it, and as soon as her lips slid off the dripping head, Bambi was right back on it. 

"I don't think he's gonna last much longer!" Bambi gushed joyfully as soon as he was out of her mouth. Watching his entire body straining, Candi had to agree. 

Peter heard the challenge just before Randi closed her thighs on his head like a vice, blinding and deafening him with her spasms. With Bambi and Candi on his legs, mouths and hands on his groins, he was buried in female flesh. 

He was desperately tempted to just lie there, giving up his manhood to whichever mouth wanted it, but he was determined not to disappoint Mary Jane or Felicia. He ate Randi's sex like it was a feast, savoring every inch of flesh, driving her crazy with ecstasy. He could hear, as if underwater, her gurgles of pleasure, Bambi's laughter, Candi's lips smacking on his prick, even Felicia's self-pleasure. It was a total orgy. He was in heaven. 

Only he heard the sound he made as Randi came in his mouth; it was the only sound he could make, and it was one of complete satisfaction. 

"That's enough," Felicia ordered, clapping her free hand on her thigh. Legs unable to support her, Randi crawled off Peter's face, leaving it glossy with her cream. She pulled herself down the length of the bed, to where Bambi and Candi rode Peter's legs. "Bambi, your turn." 

Bambi gave Peter's cock a lingering kiss, then climbed up to the head of the bed, mounting Peter's face. She raised her eyebrows at his dumbfounded expression. "I'm not easy like Randi. You're gonna have to work to make me come." 

He stared at her pink cunt, already wet. "I'm game if you are." 

"Wait a minute, Bambi," Candi cried. "There's something I want to show him first." 

She was lying between his legs now, her breasts on full display as she looked up at him. Of all the three, she had the largest, her mountainous cleavage a full cup size larger than her two roommates, while being so firm that they barely fell without the support of a bra. He noticed a tattoo of a rose above one nipple; it seemed odd that they'd lived together for so long without him seeing it. 

Candi seemed as awed by her breasts as he was. She lovingly grasped one in either hand, then pressed them together over his penis. Peter delighted in the feel of her lushly cushioned on every side, the flesh encasing him soft and pliant. He couldn't resist bucking up into the deep, deep valley of her cleavage, the warmth of her full, fleshy mammaries quickly heating into pure pleasure. 

Candi looked down in appreciation and delight as he repeatedly plowed through her cleavage. Then Randi moved in, clutching Candi's luscious breasts for her and holding them together so that Candi was free to reach down and do something Peter could not see, but that Felicia trained the camera on. It registered ecstatically on Candi's face. She watched Peter's cockhead emerge, again and again, through the channel of her breasts, always with a fresh bead of precum to dot burningly on her skin. She watched it come inches from her lips, and every time it seemed closer, every time she was more aroused. 

Then Bambi could wait no longer. She sat herself on Peter's face and he obligingly licked, sucked, kissed, giving her molten core the full treatment, stoking a fire that was already an inferno. So he missed seeing Randi sprawl herself over his body, shoving her face into Candi's considerable breasts, finding a bar of heat already occupying her cleavage. 

Randi licked and sucked, rolling her tongue over every inch of Candi's tits, every bit of Peter's cock that she could find, tongue traveling over everything, tasting everything, Candi's sweat and Peter's musk, licking and sucking, sucking and licking, kissing, kissing, kissing until it seemed impossible Peter wasn't coming, Candi was coming, why wasn't he? 

Peter's tongue had stopped playing around. It was all over Bambi's clit, punishing it for some heinous act, driving her crazy, maddening her to the point of orgasm. She writhed, cried out, gave up her orgasm like she would die without it. She fell off him panting and murmuring, whining with total joy. "Never had it so good!" 

"Your turn," Felicia said, aiming the camera at Candi, following her jiggling body as it jumped up to replace Bambi on Peter's face. She sat on his chest, deathly serious with anticipation, need, and spread her pussy lips to let him see everything that was being offered, from her clitoris burgeoning through its hood to the shine of her juices on ready, pink folds. 

"Dig in," she ordered, scooting her crotch to his face. He was suddenly swimming in the taste and scent of her, consumed by the wet valley of her sex. He bored his tongue forward, into her sucking need; he worked his jaw, probed his tongue, marveled in the clean, fresh feeling of her. 

Candi was already sighing. "Oh yeah. Oh my. Your tongue feels awesome, man—keep it moving—keep going inside me..." 

He didn't need to be told once, let alone twice. Every breath he took was soaked in her, every exhale he made sent lust rippling through her. And then he felt Bambi and Randi climbing atop his pelvis, legs parting, bodies crossing, pinning his stiffened cock between their slits. They enveloped him, but didn't hold him—he was caught between them and it was like they were fighting for his cock with their frantic scissoring, trying to capture his stiffness all for themselves, but only succeeding in bringing jubilant pleasure to all three of them. 

Meanwhile, Candi was far more impatient than the other two had been. She galloped atop his face, fucking herself on his tongue, her hands in his hair, her arms trying to stuff his face inside her. His hands were on Bambi and Randi's asses, pushing them even closer together, even harder onto his steel-hard manhood. He felt his cock straining for ecstasy and their shared, liquid heat even as he gulped down Candi's juices. 

"Put your finger in me," Candi wailed, her voice a hoarse echo of its former self. "Put your finger up in me." 

"No room," he growled into her cunt, before demonstrating with his tongue. 

She rode his face even faster, nearly bouncing off the bed. "Not there... my ass... up my ass!" 

Bambi and Randi's hands were all over each other, slicking along sweaty backs, squeezing clenched buttocks, touching everywhere except where it would force their bodies to part. They were mated from the lips downward, breast to breast, belly to belly, cunt to cunt, only Peter's impossible hard-on separating them. 

They shared each other's wetness and competed for Peter's cock, the fact that it never actually penetrated into them deliciously prolonging the orgasm they both felt bearing down on them. They swayed together, hips rocking back and forth to the music of their pounding blood, their clits erect and desperate for contact, but the pleasure just sharp enough to leave them untouched. They let their passion grow and grow, a never-ending kiss that burned hotter and hotter between two bodies that pulled endlessly closer together. 

Peter sunk his hands into Candi's tender ass, spreading the cheeks apart and finding her anus quickly, slippery with sweat and the lube she had used to penetrate herself. He thought her earlier masturbation had just been some fingering. The thought that she had actually sodomized herself made his cock somehow harder. He twisted the tip of his finger into her tight hole, gritting his teeth against the continuing pressure of his pending climax against his entire body. 

"Ahhhhh!" Candi cried, her sharp cry instantly overwhelming the passionate outbursts from her two roommates. "More!" she demanded, frantic, wanting it more than she'd ever wanted anything in her young life. 

Peter drove his finger deeper, feeling the tight ring of muscle make a token clench before letting him in, like it was eager to usher him through to painful, pleasurable depths. He added another thing, a third, making Candi's asshole blaze with tightly intermingled sensation. When she finally came, it was because she had no choice. 

"My ass!" she wailed inauspiciously, her climax boiling up from the heated intrusion from behind, the wicked friction in front. 

She let her full weight fall on Peter's face and was actually lifted up by only Peter's tongue as climax shocked her body, arching her torso, thrusting her breasts upward, letting a pink flush spread up from her satiated womanhood like a circuit had been completed. Her sex fed Peter honey like it was trying to repay him. Finally, she overextended herself and fell back against Bambi and Randi. 

They had orgasmed themselves, finally finishing themselves off with quick flicks of each other's buttons as Peter ejaculated, face pressed into Candi's satin-warm sex, but tasting only the electric sting of his ejaculation—feeling like he'd been killed and every shot was bringing him back to life, gushing first onto Bambi and then onto Randi as they wrestled for final possession of his throbbing climax. He released completely, glowing, relieved, opened and emptied. When Candi fell against them, Bambi and Randi were equally satisfied and equally wet with cum. 

"Not fair," Candi whined, when she could breathe again. "I wanted some bukkake too!" 

"You want it?" Felicia asked, her hand still hard at work between her thighs. "Get over here." 

Candi eagerly fell off the bed, crawling across the floor to the standing Felicia, her fly unzipped, her panties shoved down low. Felicia looked down at the conquest kneeling before her, eyes closed, mouth open, her favorite submission. She looked at Bambi and Randi, marked with her man's seed, and she looked at Peter, the conquering hero conquered by the harem she'd recruited. She came like it was silk running down her pussy, fluttering from her blush-warm body, splattering down onto Candi's eager acceptance. The camera caught it all, looking down at Candi as Felicia ejaculated like she'd turned a water bottle upside down. 

Satisfied at last, and not even having been touched, Felicia sat back down. She stopped her recording and immediately sent it to Mary Jane, the final image that of Peter and two women, sticky with sweat and sex, piled atop him. 

Peter spoke like he was coming out of a coma. "Tell MJ I love her. And that we'll be sending her another video in an hour." 

"An hour?" Bambi griped, reaching down to briskly tease Peter's slippery cock. "That long?" 

Then she felt it answering in gulping bolts of hardness. 

"No," Peter replied. "We'll be done in an hour. Candi, get back here. Lie down next to Bambi. I want all of you on your backs." 

Felicia had to help Candi stagger over. "This is why I bought us all king-sized beds." She tossed Candi down to the mattress as Peter slipped out from them, now standing over the line of women, next to Felicia. "I'm still your favorite, though?" 

Peter kissed her on the cheek. "You're neck and neck with a redhead. So. You're the master. What's the play?" 

Felicia observed the three women, slowly coming around for more. "Well, Candi's the only one you didn't jizz all over, so you should probably fuck her. Randi and Bambi will be right next to her. You can finger them, right?" 

"And you?" 

"I finally thought of something to do with that bracelet I got off the Shocker. But don't come inside Candi. Pull out. I want to lick you off all three of them before this is over." 

This time, Peter kissed her on the mouth. 

Neither of them looked at the door, ajar by a slender crack, a single eye on the other side. Ana Kravinoff continued to be astonished by this universe's Peter Parker. He had five broodmares, and he had satisfied three of them at once. Which meant it was possible... 

Mary Jane Watson. Felicia Hardy. And her. Mates of the Spider.



Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 06



Ana watched in shock. Peter had Candi lewdly impaled beneath him. Randi laid beside her to the left, her legs splayed, his right hand between them. She moaned almost as loud as Candi did.

Not as loud as Bambi, though. She was on her hands and knees, head down, ass up, and Peter's left hand was between her buttocks. Ana could see his outstretched fingers, rubbing at her tightly puckered anus, each dip of his middle finger into her ring bringing a shout of surprise from Bambi. Until he finally pushed through the rubbery muscle and disappeared into her; a tortured wail came from her before her ass began pumping back against his hand.

Then Randi began moaning obscenities, words beneath even commoners, the kind of words that would've earned Ana a stiff crop if she used them in front of her mother. Peter's hand came off her sex and then slapped back down, actually spanking her womanhood, and Randi let out the foulest word of all. Ana almost wanted to put her hands over her ears. But she didn't.

Candi was not neglected. With the same easy cadence he had set with her roommates, Peter withdrew from her for several inches, then grinded his hips to get back inside her tightly clasped sex. He kept up the maddeningly slow pattern, withdrawing so far that Ana could see his throbbing glans before they dropped back inside Candi.

The woman—the whore's long legs wrapped sinuously around Peter's hips, squirming affectionately over him, her heels digging snugly into his ass as if she were trying to get him even deeper inside her. And the muscles of her thighs flexed as she thrust herself back up at Peter's thick, fleshy cock—her clenched ass lifting several inches off the bed, trying to get all of him inside her. She was beating a rhythmic tattoo against his body, but his pace never quickened. He only fully penetrated her on every third thrust she made, bearing her down to the bed and fucking her into the mattress.

Bambi started speaking, moaning the same forbidden words as Randi, drumming into Ana's mind, putting a guilty tingle between her legs. She wondered what she would say if Peter were using his fingers on her. Would she say anything at all? Candi wasn't. She was just screaming.

Ana bit her fist to keep from doing the same. Was she in great joy or terrible pain? It was so hard to tell, to think when her ears were drenched with such depraved music. The squeak of bedsprings, the heavy breathing, the moans and groans and Felicia's panting lust as she watched it all, like Ana was doing, but clearly enjoying it.

Clearly having had done it herself with him, fingers in her ass and pussy, maybe more than that. And the sight of them—the tangled of limbs, the spread of one expanse of naked flesh to another, different-hued skin tone, Bambi leaning over to kiss Candi as both women, and their friend besides, were rendered slaves to the pleasure one man brought them.

Ana clamped her legs together, but though she could crush a man's head with them, she could not put out the fire inside her. It was spreading—in her breasts now. She rubbed at their straining softness, shocked at the great hardness of her nipples, while the rest of her chest was so soft. Was that how Randi's sex felt to Peter's touch? Soft?

She reached down to rub at her groin. It was soft. Her fingers sank right in. But she could not reach the terrible place inside her that was demanding to be touched. It was too far away. She needed something bigger—longer—harder...

Ana stripped, every ripple of clothing and blast of air on her bare skin like a passionate lover whispering her name. She pushed the door open. None of those inside—Peter's harem—noticed. In the doorway, she got down on her knees and crammed her fingers inside herself. The same rhythm set by Peter on a bed so large, it could fit her as well.

She could see his huge cock sinking into her greedy sex, then impossibly escaping its ardent clasp. Her fingers became his cock; her gasps matched theirs. She wanted everything they were getting. Peter's fingers in her cunt, in her ass—his cock inside her. She had to have it, but there was only her own fingers. They would have to do.

She reached behind herself, finding the puckered little hole that she had never touched before, and put her finger to it. There was a sharp jolt of pain. She could survive that. Then her body started quivering with pleasure. She wasn't sure she could live through that.

Like Bambi, the bitch in heat, Ana lowered her face to the floor, her ass in the air , her breasts brushing against the floor. Everything felt ecstatic; even the air was pleasuring her. She just set barely see Peter pounding into Candi from her new vantage point, but it was enough. She could picture herself under that masterful body. It was enough. She felt herself coming—coming with a great roar to overpower the never-ending, orgasmic moan split between the three broodmares.

"YES! YES! YES!" she screamed, hanging on the edge of what felt like the first climax she'd ever had, and then having her thrusting fingers rip the precipice away. She fell endlessly into the liquid passion that gushed over her hand and wrist.

But her eternity was short-lived. The relief ebbed and she was up, naked, prowling, Felicia and Peter just noticing her as the women were still lost in sex. On all fours she clambered to Peter, tackling him off the bed in a frenzy. Her teeth were at his ear.

"You did this to me! You made me come, you commanded me to come—I submit to you! More! I swear myself to you! Breed me! BREED ME!"

She could see the confusion in Peter's eyes as she rutted against him, trying to get him inside her—then even words failed and she just kissed him, slapping away her fellow broodmare as the white-haired one tried to intercede. She should've known; her hunter's body was too much for him. They were a perfect match. Just rubbing together, his eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned her name as his cock rumbled and gave to her, spilling scads of cum against her belly. A promise of what it would do inside her so very soon.

Felicia got up, wiping blood from her mouth. "Peter, who's this side ho?"

Peter tried to push her away, accidentally grabbing her lush breasts. Ana quickly took hold of his hands to keep them in place, pushing him to rub and massage her orbs. "Ana Kravinoff—I think. We're really not that close!"

"I can see that," Felicia said wryly.

Peter tried to stand, but it just gave Ana an opening to wrap her long legs around his waist, their grip pulling the two bodies together like they were being crushed in a vice. Peter found Ana's lips once more against his, her tongue mixing desperately with his.

"I don't want to fuck anyone else!" Ana breathed, jamming his face down into her cleavage. "I don't want to bear anyone else's imperfect, inferior children! I want your seed! Your perfect, powerful seed!"

"There's some on Bambi and Randi..." Felicia pointed out helpfully, resolved to enjoy the show.

"I want a big, strong MAN like you!" Ana pleaded. "I want to be your woman, a good woman! I can be so good, Peter! Make me good like you did the Cat—make me a good woman to fuck!" She licked his face.

Peter tried to pull her off him, but she was clinging so tightly to his body, he only succeeded in pulling himself toward the bed. "Felicia, little help?"

"I think you've got the right tools for the job," Felicia said, aiming the camera downward.

Ana murmured hungrily in Peter's ear as she rubbed her core against his erection. "I won't kill anyone. I won't tell your secret. I'll help you fight crime and take news pictures, just please fuck me—!"

Peter felt his stomach twist. "You know about—"

Ana finally got him slotted into her. She let go, letting gravity take over, and it pulled her right down atop his cock. Peter groaned as she was suspended from him by only his burgeoning erection.

"Fuck me, паук! Fuck me now!"

Candi, Bambi, and Randi were just beginning to realize the addition of yet another naked woman to her room. "Wait, what'd she call you?"

Peter recognized 'spider' in most languages. He had no time to negotiate—he couldn't trust the three roommates with his identity. He fell atop Ana on the bed; actually, on top of Candi, Bambi, and Randi, the women pinned down by Ana's body as he thrust into her. She ground his phallus in her cunt with almost superhuman strength, even tighter than Felicia could squeeze him, and Peter cried out as he remembered how good superhuman sex could be.

He pumped into her, muscles cording on her inner thighs to get him deeper. He cupped her naked ass with savage strength that burned red bruises into her white flesh; squeezed them together to fit her sex even more tightly around his cock.

Pure animal pleasure mewled out of her as she thrust up against his furious bucking, the slap of belly against belly filling the room like the sound of a pounding surf. Randi, Bambi, and Candi were trying to get off as well, humping against their locked bodies as both shook with need.

"COME INSIDE ME, COME INSIDE ME!" Ana was screaming. "GIVE ME AN HEIR!"

Secret identity or no, he wasn't doing that. He pulled out of her, walking across the three roommates on his knees, running his cock up Ana's body like a plow cutting a furrow, until he was lodged between her precious tits. He fucked through her cleavage, Ana staring in disbelief at his slick cockhead jabbing at her face.

"YES, MARK ME, MASK ME WITH YOUR CUM!"

 That, he could swing. He groaned and Ana felt his balls explode against her solar plexus, his shaft shuddering between her breasts as it shot out hot cum, splattering over her face and neck and Randi beneath her. Ana wailed a war cry, overjoyed that she had made him come.

He shot off again as Ana closed her breasts over him with her hands, making him splash on her breasts, drip off her nipples. He was coming like a flamethrower, dousing them with white napalm, screaming laughter as Bambi, Randi, Candi covered Ana in their hands, spreading the cum over her like bodypaint, licking it up, marking themselves with it.

And Peter kept coming, Ana seeming to squeeze the orgasm out of him with her tits, playing his cock over herself like a hose, painting face and hair in streaks of white. Then the roommates were all over her, kissing her clean.

"Yes!" Ana cried. "Pleasure your new broodmare! Let us amuse ourselves while the master rejuvenates!"

Thankfully, Bambi sat on her face then.

"Quick word?" Peter asked, grabbing Felicia's arm.

***

They talked just outside the room, ready to rush back in if they saw anything untoward through the cracked door. Hushed tones dominated.

"Please tell me she isn't one of your surprises," Peter begged.

"Ana? God, no. She's cute and everything, but I like my flings to need less medication. Cute, though."

"You said that," Peter muttered. "What's she even doing here—how'd she even find us?"

"She's a huntress, Spider. And you wear a skintight costume in bright, primary colors. Not that hard to follow."

"That's what I have a spider-sense for! It's supposed to warn me about stuff like this!"

"Maybe it didn't go off because she's not a threat. It's not like I make your spider-sense tingle... can we pause a moment while I think of a double entrendre for that statement? It's just crying out for one."

"At the moment, I'm a little too worried she's going to go Hannibal on the orgy you planned. Those Krakens are deep-fried crazy." Peter peeked through the door to reassure himself.

"Any Hannibal action?" Felicia asked.

"Well, she is eating—but they don't seem to mind."

"Let me see..."

Peter backed out of Felicia's way. "You don't believe me?"

"I believe you fine, why do you think I want a look?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "This is serious, Cat. We need a plan. You were a supervillain—you have any insight into her?"

"Well, it's not the strangest thing in the world, one of the bad guys wanting to go straight—realizing it's a little stupid to spend all their time and resources on building battle-suits so they can knock over a 7-11. Which is usually when someone like you stumbles over them, kicks sand in their eye, makes them swear vengeance, and starts the whole wheel rolling again..."

Peter flushed. "Oh, it's my fault, not letting criminals run rampant..."

"Let me finish, Parker. You're the one who asked for my criminal expertise."

Peter crossed his arms and held his tongue.

"Like I said, most of the nitwits in my profession are motivated by a lethal combination of greed and grudges. We're a stubborn bunch—not that you heroes are much better. Had to talk you into a threesome, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Peter grumbled.

"The Kravinoffs, though—they're that special kind of crazy that doesn't know they're crazy. They just want to hunt people for sport, I mean, who does that? I've known crooks to go straight—and I've known crooks to like the looks of you—but that mixed with the crazy is a new one."

"She's all about blood and honor, though. If she wants to kill me, is she really going to let me—'despoil' her or whatever? I mean, figuring the angles, I can't see any reason she would want that to happen if she was hostile."

"Speaking as someone who's occasionally wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have minded a roll in the hay first." She clapped him on the chest.

"Now that we're dating, you're just letting it all hang out, aren't you?"

"Says the guy who put me in jail."

"Like, one time..."

"Twice."

"Maybe two times... Okay, so she's sincere?"

"Sincere, crazy does very well," Felicia stated. "I just don't see the endgame."

"Sounded like she wanted a Kraven Jr."

"Well, that's not happening. I hate kids."

Felicia looked into the room again. "I think they're finishing up. Bambi and Candi are out, at least, and Randi's flagging."

Peter groaned. "I hate this—who do you trust, what side are you on stuff! I punch people, I investigate things, I invent stuff... I don't play politics. I don't even watch Game of Thrones."

"Would it make things easier if we knew she was telling the truth?"

"Yes," Peter said, trying hard to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "That would in fact solve everything."

"Because I know a guy, and I think you do too..."

"Oh, no."

"A guy who has some experience in this area..."

"Not him. Please. I don't need the Catholic stuff right now."

"Peter, don't be a baby about this."

"He's going to give me a look, Felicia. He's going to give me such a look."

"He's blind. And it's not like he's a choir boy either. I heard him, Elektra, and Black Widow have had some things..."

Peter sighed. "I'll look up his number."

"No need, have him on speed-dial."

"Why do you have him on speed-dial?"

Felicia paused halfway to her phone. "Give me a break. I was single last week."

"How single? Because he's like my best friend—"

"Johnny Storm's your best friend."

"I can have more than one best friend!"

"I'll invite him over for a big hug from you, then."

***

They waved Bambi, Randi, and Candi off with promises to more thoroughly introduce them to Felicia's 'old friend' Ana at a later date. Then, clothed and coffee'd, they brought Ana some snacks and drinks. She laid in bed, embracing a pillow, poking a long leg out of her sheet for their amusement. She was drowsy, sated and content, her English deteriorating from the wine she sipped.

"I like this bed. Is soft bed. Warm pillow. I think it will have much lovemaking." She nodded to the wall. "Girder backing there. I think should be sufficient for rough and fast coitus. Apologies if plaster come down."

"Ana," Felicia said sweetly, "we're expecting company, actually."

"Coitus friend?" Ana jerked up, the sheet falling away to reveal her breasts as she held herself up on either arm. "Redhead? I look forward to having redhead!"

"Well, he's a redhead..."

"Matt Murdock," Peter interrupted. "An old friend. Not a coitus friend. So you might wanna get dressed."

"Yes, master."

"You don't have to call me master. Or use the word broodmare or—really, you probably shouldn't bring up the topic of mating, because I don't plan on having kids anytime soon."

Ana slowly worked her jaw, absorbing the news. "But I can still be part of harem?"

"It's not a..." Peter sat cross-legged beside her. "You know about me and Felicia and... the redhead, right?"

"Yes. I enjoy watching. You make loveplay with them—they satisfied. I know. Not pretend, like I do. Real. I want real, too."

"I get that—kinda." Peter kneaded his hands together. "It's not a harem, though. Or a... broodmare thing. I have feelings for them, they have feelings for me. We love each other. That's why we're together, not because I'm their 'master' or anything."

"I love you," Ana said.

"You don't even know me."

"I know Spider very well. We fight many great battles. I sense your heart. Great courage. And strange ways—you can kill me, but won't. Hard thing. Good thing, though, I think. Like—hunt without guns. Honorable. And I sense your heat. Your thoughts of possessing me as we grapple."

"Well!" Felicia exclaimed, eyes on Peter. "Mr. Parker...!"

"I was single last week," Peter retorted, imitating her.

The doorbell rang. Felicia tightened her kimono. "That'll be the other redhead..."

Peter gestured her off, still focused on Ana. "So that's all you want? To be like... me and Felicia and Mary Jane."

Ana curled her arm under her head, relaxing into it. "Yes. Like old way, before Father. Expected to marry strong, into good family. Bring back good blood for family line. I prove my devotion to you. Show you great strength and cunning, helping you fight criminals. Someday, you give me child. Grow inside belly. Great hunt over—we take the Spider's strength for our own."

"And how do we raise this child?" Peter asked, rubbing his chin.

"Like worthy father, of course. Hunting criminals. Fighting without weapon of killing. Bring honor to Spider-family. Make me proud momma. Then you give me another child. Bloodline continues." Ana joined the forefingers of either hand together. "No more blood feud. Only family."

Peter ran a hand over his face. "And if I don't accept this—proposal?"

"Then we go back to being enemies. Families stay apart. Feud continues. I kill you, because you won't kill me. Soft ones can take out of it, though." Ana nodded thoughtfully towards Felicia, at the front door. "Redhead. Feline. No honor in hurting them. Only you are worthy opponent. Only any honor in serving you."

***

Peter left Ana dozing and went to greet Matt, whose nose was wrinkled like it was broken. "Guys, I'm not judging, but if you're going to invite someone with hypersensitive senses over, maybe clean up a little first?"

"You love it," Felicia replied.

"Only when I'm invited. And five women seems a little gluttonous. It try to keep my deadly sins to lust and wrath."

"The classics," Felicia approved.

Peter explained the situation—as hard as it was, realizing what he was saying, and after they'd split a pot of tea, they went into the bedroom to wake Ana up.

She gathered the sheet tight to her chest, seeing the strange man in the room. It looked like almost a virginal gesture, but from the faint buzzing of his spider-sense, Peter knew she was ready to kill him.

"Ana, this is Matt, he's a friend. He'd really like it if you could explain to him how you came to be here—making the decision you've made."

"This would please you?" she asked Peter.

"Yes. Very much."

"Then I do by your command."

She told her story. Some of it Peter knew, a lot he didn't. He'd vaguely wondered where the Kravinoffs had disappeared to after giving him such trouble recently—to hear Ana tell it, they'd traveled to a parallel dimension, searching for another Sergei Kravinoff. Things had gone sideways, though, with Ana and her mother being captured and then embroiled in the affairs of that universe's Spider-Man.




Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 06



It wasn't hard to recognize the fingerprints of the symbiote on 'their' Spider-Man, which Peter hoped explained his behavior toward Ana. She'd ended up returning with her mother to their home dimension, embarrassed and vowing revenge.

Yet for all Ana's shame and frustration, the time she'd spent with the other Spider-Man was the closest she'd come to a real relationship. And seeing Peter with Felicia, she'd become consumed by the idea of having 'her own' Spider-Man. For days she'd watched the three of them, coming to envy their life together, until finally her confused mind had found a way to reconcile her feud with the Spiders with her lust for Peter Parker.

It was about the craziest thing Peter had ever heard.

"She's telling the truth," Matt said, sipping his tea.

They'd left Felicia tucking Ana in, so to speak, while they finished off the tea.

"She's a psychopath!" Peter protested. "Are you sure your... radar isn't on the fritz?"

"Are you sure your spider-sense is working?" Matt countered. "Haven't gotten a ping off her, have you?"

"Occasionally."

"When she's thinking of causing trouble, which isn't often. Peter, I know psychopaths. I can smell them—more literally than you'd think. She's not, strictly speaking, crazy. She's a confused young woman who's seeing a healthy, functional set of relationships and wants that in her life, as best she can express her need for it."

"And if I don't say yes, she's going to go back to trying to kill me."

"I'm more concerned with her psychological well-being."

"Easy for you to say."

Matt set down the tea cup. "Peter, there aren't many men I'd trust not to take advantage of this situation. You're one of them. For what it's worth, I can't detect any aggression on her, any deceit—she wants to share in your happiness, she just doesn't know how to say that. Who does? To her, the only way she can express this desire for a normal life is this talk of broodmares and masters... she wants to cook eggs with you on Saturday morning, same as you would with MJ."

"She could hurt someone. Kill someone. If Mary Jane weren't out of the country, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. I'd have her hauled to jail—"

"On what charge?"

Peter gritted his teeth. "If it were Bullseye, coming to you claiming he'd seen the light..."

Matt held up a finger—enough to stop a courthouse cold, more than enough for Peter. "Bullseye had a normal childhood, he made the choice to be what he is. Ana was raised as a living weapon, now she's making the choice to be someone else. I'm not a saint, Peter. I'd be just as suspicious as you. That's why I would want her someplace I could keep an eye on her..."

"In your bed?" Peter pressed.

"She wants affection. Separate that from sexual intimacy as best you can. Show her how to be a human being. Maybe, in a few months, she'll realize the situation continuing is untenable and accept that she can't find what she's looking for with you."

"And won't she take that well."

"Even failed relationships can help us be better people. Would you have done things differently, if you were back on that first date with Betty Brant?"

"Not the same thing."

"It never is." Matt picked up his cane. "We can keep going around and around on this, but in the end, it's entirely up to you. All I can say is, the only way we ever seem to take these people off the playing board is when they die or they see that there's a better way. I'd prefer it be the second one. No matter how much of a longshot it seems like."

***

"Where are we going?" Ana asked the next day, sprawled in the backseat of Felicia's convertible with Peter. She seemed amused by being able to vine herself around him, Peter tolerating the contact, stroking her arms as she unwound against him.

"I told you," Peter said, with a look to the driving Felicia. "We're going to see some old friends. For that thing we talked about."

"Will it hurt?"

"No."

"And this will prove to you my love? My devotion?"

"Yes, Ana. But you don't have to do it if you don't want to. It would just make me feel better—I promised I'd take care of Felicia. I know she can handle herself, but I need assurances."

"You'll see." Ana nuzzled her head into the collar of his shirt. "I would give anything for you. And after, you will kneel between my legs like I saw you do with redhead. Give me your mouth of pleasure."

***

"I do not like this woman," Ana said, waiting in the car with Felicia. "She smells of lies and presents her bosom for our master."

"Hush," Felicia replied. "I like her aesthetic. Besides, Peter prefers classy ladies like us."

Out on the front perch of the X-mansion, Peter had come up the stairs to find Emma Frost waiting with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.

"You realize this isn't exactly ethical?" Emma asked. "Not that I care about such things, but you hero-types, you might as well accuse me of witchcraft for considering such things."

"She's consented to it," Peter argued. "A gesture of goodwill."

"Her mind's buzzing like a beehive. She's half in love with you just because you can give her a hard right hook, and the other half's because you won't. I'd suggest that she isn't in the best place to make decisions about her psyche."

"I don't like the thought either. Crazy as it sounds, she's... she's not a bad kid. But she's in this city because of me. I'm giving her a place to sleep. If she hurt anyone—God forbid, someone I care about, even..."

Emma cut him off. "I didn't say I wouldn't do it." She curled her fingers in the direction of the car. Ana got out and came striding over. "For what it's worth, someone did the same for me once. Let me sleep under their roof. Eat at their table. Be the viper clutched to their breast. I appreciate that, now."

"And did they put a collar on you?" Peter asked wryly.

"No. But in their defense, they weren't able."

Ana arrived at their table, standing stiffly and suspiciously beside them. "Emma Frost. It is good to meet a friend of Peter's. Thank you for giving him assistance."

"You Russians. Life of the party." Emma slid Peter's untouched lemonade to Ana, who drank readily. "You're aware of what's intended here?"

"Yes."

"How would you describe it?"

Ana froze with the glass in her hand. "I have done bad things. Hurt people. Some more bad than—I cannot be trusted not to hurt more. So you will do thing in head, and I will not be able to kill anyone."

"Yes. A psychic block. You'll still be able to punch and kick and all the other fun games the kids seem to like so much, but you can't knowingly cause fatal harm. If you're repeatedly punching someone, perhaps because he's a vegetarian, and your mind is aware that another blow will kill him, you'll be psychically unable to do so. Someone could point a gun at your head and tell you to do it, but this will not be possible."

Emma drank her lemonade. After a moment, Ana followed suit.

"As you can imagine, this isn't something I employ lightly. It's a very slippery slope, and one opponents to mutantkind would love to brandish at us. So I will only do it to you if you agree to it, knowingly and unreservedly."

"I want this," Ana nodded. "I want to show Peter I can be trusted. I can change for him."

"My God, man," Emma cried, staring sharply at Peter. "All this after one night with you? It really is always the quiet ones..."

***

God, Mary Jane hated acting. Usually, she didn't but right now, she was giving in and hating acting. The movie had six writers, and one of them had just delivered a new draft that cut her scenes in half and made her part of a love triangle. It had the side benefit of giving her new lines that Megan Fox would say if she were on oxy. Still, she had to memorize them. It was a point of pride to have crap like that littering her brain.

She just hoped Peter was having a good time. There'd been a time when she'd worry that without her, he'd have no fun at all, but now with him and Felicia... Christ, she hoped New York was still standing when she got back from England.

There was a knock at the door. MJ gratefully set aside the script. "Who is it?"

"Room service," came the answer.

Mary Jane got up, wondering what complementary goodies the studio had arranged for her today, and opened the door to find a woman in a very tight minidress. That didn't concern her so much as the purple hair.

"Psylocke?"

"Please. Betsy," the X-Man said with a smile. "I owe Felicia a favor. She said to tell you thanks for the roommates."

"So this is a..."

Betsy stepped inside, the door shutting telekinetically behind her. "I'm in your room. Now I'm going to service you."

Mary Jane caught on quick. "That's a tall order. You're replacing two very sexy people."

Betsy counted on her hand. "I'm Asian and I have a British accent. I think I'll manage."

"There's still only one of you."

"Did I mention my split-personality?"



Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 07



Ana liked being engaged to Peter and Felicia and Mary Jane, off shooting her movie in England, but many parts of it were new and confusing to her. They all lived together, that made sense. Even Mary Jane had a room set aside for when she came back. But that was the thing—although the rooms and beds were all big enough for all of them, there were many times when Peter and Felicia slept apart. 

Or, sometimes, Peter couldn't sleep and would go out to be Spider-Man, or Felicia would not sleep and go out to steal something (which she would then put back). Sometimes they went to bed in their own rooms, but then one would get up in the middle of the night and go to the other's bed, sometimes for sex, sometimes just to sleep under the same sheets. Many times one didn't even wake the other up. 

It was all very confusing to Ana. She knew how her parents had lived together. Every night, Sasha had slept with Sergei, sating his male needs as was proper. She did not understand how Peter and Felicia could be together, but need this space between them, but also sometimes not need it. She though it must be a ritual to account for the Spider's strength. 

She knew she made them uncomfortable sometimes, the way she was in love with them before they were in love with her. It would be unwise to try to sleep with them now. Like approaching a deer while it might still spook. She slept outside their rooms, waking before they did, leaving before they realized she was at their door, hearing them sleep, hearing them fornicate. One night, she went to Felicia's room. She heard the steady, slightly pitched rate of breath inside and knew Felicia was awake, sedately reading a book. She knocked at the door. 

"Come in, Ana." 

Ana poked her head in. "You knew was me?" 

"Peter wouldn't knock." Felicia set her book aside. "What's up?" 

"I want to sleep in your bed. I'm not used to sleeping alone. Mother used to share my bed..." 

"Parental trauma. Knew we had something in common besides great boobs." Felicia drew the sheets aside, patted the mattress. Ana undressed, down to the underwear she thought was appropriate for this stage in their relationship, and joined Felicia in her bed. 

"It will be... like sleepover, yes?" 

"Yeah. Wanna watch some TV?" Felicia reached for the remote on the nightstand, showing off her taped ribs. She and Peter had fought a malfunctioning Sentinel that day. Ana had been forbidden to help. Too dangerous. Alone in the apartment, she had gone into the shower and screamed. 

"No," Ana said. "Too... loud. Busy, you understand?" 

"Even PBS?" 

Ana shrugged. 

"I'm too wiped out to do anything but lay here, and too wired to sleep," Felicia explained. "Sucks." 

Ana nodded. She knew the feeling. Like the first night on a hunt that might last weeks. You wanted to work through the night, end it fast, not rely on patience. 

"Hey, raised-by-wolves-girl. You know how to cuddle, right?" 

Ana nodded. 

"Show me." 

Ana put herself against Felicia, letting the other woman embrace her, hold her tightly. The 'littler spoon,' she had heard it called. It befitted Peter's senior bride to be the 'bigger spoon'. 

Felicia massaged her gently. Ana felt her body start to relax. Her mind start to loosen, feeling Felicia's acceptance being rubbed into her body. "So, Ana, you ever hunt lions, tigers, panthers, cats?" 

"You think I hunt people if not hunt everything else?" 

Felicia hummed; 'fair enough'. "So you've killed them?" 

"Yes, but—not endangered. Not honorable hunt." 

"And when you kill them, you do it quick, right? Like nature intends. You don't let them suffer or anything?" 

"No." Ana shook her head. "No honor in... bad kill. Clean. Honorable. Knife. Arrow. Only steel, no poison. Bare hands, sometimes. You must respect the animal with your fight." 

"That's okay, I guess." Felicia tightened her embrace of Ana. "I ask because, if you ever hurt Peter, betray him in any way, do anything to harm him or MJ or that sweet old lady that raised him to be the man I love—that's not how I'm going to kill you. I'm going to break every bone in your body, then I'm going to sell you to some very bad people I know, and they're going to run experiments on you that insects are too good for. So let's not go that way, 'kay?" 

Ana smiled. "You defend him with honor. I'll enjoy learning from you to be in good standing among his harem." 

Felicia shuffled to get comfortable. "Stop calling it a harem, too. Or at least start calling it my harem. My apartment, my harem..." 

*** 

Peter was defensive of all his broodmares, but most especially of Mary Jane. Ana understood. She could not defend herself. She must make up for it by being able to bear strong children while Felicia kept up the hunt. So Peter was at first reluctant to allow Ana to speak to her sister in harem, but Felicia took her side after making her threat clear. And so Ana was allowed to Skype with Mary Jane. 

She stared. Ana had studied her prey, back before she'd realized Peter was her soulmate, her one true master. Although others had attempted to capture his heart, Mary Jane had been the first to truly succeed. Peter had taken her to his marriage bed. Felicia may have been his first, but Mary Jane had very nearly tamed him. It was easy to see why. She was beautiful. The majesty of an animal even Ana would not hunt. Some creatures were so awe-inspiring, they had to be allowed to run free. 

After about sixty seconds, Mary Jane got the idea that Ana wasn't going to stop staring. "So... guess that 'group marriage' slippery slope got slippery pretty fast, huh?" 

Ana closed her eyes. Mary Jane's voice... a song! "Peter, of course, loves you very much." 

"Yes. He does." 

"This is a natural reaction. I look forward to learning from you. When you are too old to bear children, my fertile loins will provide you with many heirs to the Spider. I weep, thinking of them growing up alongside your beauty." 

"...kay." 

"Am I being inappropriate? Peter warned me about this..." 

"I'd just stay away from the subject of reproduction all together." 

"Yes! Of course!" Ana nodded, eager to please. "I look forward to when you return, and we can service Peter together, sexually, for pleasure and not reproduction." 

*** 

Peter was off with the Avengers. Felicia watched TV, flicking between channels. There were news stories about the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, but no updates on the Avengers. She slammed her thumb down on the remote, shrinking the sixty-inch image to a white dot that then wiped itself out of existence. Threw the remote to the other end of the couch. Ana didn't know which she was more upset about: worrying about Peter or being worried about Peter. 

Felicia lifted up one of the couch cushions, unzipped it, reached inside, and came up with a bland prescription bottle. "You need help sleeping?" she asked Ana, noticing the huntress watching. 

Ana nodded. 

Felicia took out two lime-green pills, threw one to Ana. She clenched the other in her teeth as she sealed up the bottle, pushed it back inside the cushion, and restored the couch to its original appearance. Then she dry-swallowed. 

"C'mon," Felicia said, "let's go to bed." 

*** 

Sasha Kravinoff pulled hard against the webbing that held her hands and feet to the bed. She could see Mary Jane in the doorway, and would dearly love to break the little ginger's leg and stake her out to lure the Spider. Her rival wore a ragged pair of jeans and a holey white T-shirt. Cheap, shabby clothes, but Sasha would've paid dearly for them. After he'd webbed her down, the Spider had ripped away her clothing. She was bare as an animal. 

"Drink?" Mary Jane asked, coming closer, a glass of ice water in her hand. Sasha snarled at her. Mary Jane set it down on the nightstand, just in case she changed her mind. "Don't think Peter and the others aren't interested in you. They are, a lot. But we decided, as a team, that I should go first. Find out what you taste like without... everything else." 

She reached down and cupped the mound of Sasha's pussy. 

"Whore! Slut!" Sasha screamed. 

Mary Jane flicked her in the nose like she was a misbehaving dog. "Shh. I'm trying to make this feel good for you. If Peter heard you talking like that, he'd web your mouth shut. And Felicia has plans for that..." She worked a finger into Sasha's slit, watching the older woman squirm. "Not shaved, hmm? That's fine, just a little odd. Your daughter does. She's learned how important it is for a woman to do sweet little things like that for her man." 

"My daughter will rip your throat out with your teeth!" 

"No," Mary Jane smirked. "But she did almost rip my clit off with them. Though I came like crazy, so I can't complain." Her finger sunk deeper into Sasha, discovering the hidden wetness inside. "Wow, your cunt is just seething. Even Ana's didn't get so hot. Must be because Peter's fucking her so often, but you, you haven't had anyone since Kraven the Cosplayer rimmed a shotgun. How about I just lick and suck that pussy for you?" 

"Don't you dare!" Sasha shouted. "I won't have your whore lips on me!" 

"Objection noted," MJ said smugly. She took her finger out, dripping wet. "But I think it's been overruled." She sucked the last joint of her finger like she was snitching frosting off a birthday cake. "Mmm... Definitely overruled." She bent over Sasha, her famous lips now curled in a grin far too wolfish to sell lingerie. 

"Ooooh!" Sasha couldn't help but respond, feeling Mary Jane's heated tongue burn into her cunt, plunging deep inside, then curling back to lick what had at first escaped. "You bitch! You're—you're making me do this!" 

"Damn right I am," Mary Jane shot back, putting a hand on Sasha's ass. "Nice A, by the way. Inspiring to see in an older woman." She gave it another squeeze as her tongue whipped and licked back into Sasha's pussy. 

Sasha screamed. "You're making me—making me!" She bucked her hips off the bed, into Mary Jane's burrowing head. 

"Come!" Mary Jane ordered with lips glossed by Sasha's juices. "Come for me, bitch. You're the whore now!" 

"No, no!" 

Deep inside her, a process had begun of grinding, writhing, contracting and expanding. Sasha had never felt anything like it, even with Sergei. But she knew the weakness of giving into such a trap. She knew it was nothing like the pain that came with strength. And she knew why her daughter had fallen for it. 

"I can't help it," she muttered as she delivered her taste to Mary Jane Watson, the beloved of her arch-nemesis. "Forgive me, Sergei..." 

*** 

Ana woke abruptly from her dream, burning up. It'd been so vivid—so arousing. Everything in it was forbidden, a frenetic betrayal of her family, her legacy... but oh, God, if she could've just seen a little more...! 

"Well, someone had a nice nap," Felicia yawned, stretching out to strain her nightie with her impressive bust. "Little green helpers do hit the spot, don't they? Not that I blame you for soaking through the mattress—did you see that fight Spider had with Deadpool? I love it when they wrestle around..." 

"I... I..." Ana was short of breath. "I didn't know I could feel this way, without being touched. It was so real-!" 

"I know, sweetie. Look but don't touch can be so hard. Do you want a cold shower or..." Felicia made a vague sort of touch at Ana's knee. "Do you want to need a shower?" 

"I... think I should wait for Peter. To initiate me." Ana nodded to herself. "He will soon, yes?" 

"Oh yeah..." Felicia looked over Ana. Approving of her 'naturalistic' choice of sleepwear. But then, if Peter had tried to resist two women having sex with him, he could probably hold out against three. 

Poor bitch. If she'd fallen for Cyclops or someone, he'd probably just have fucked her brains out by now. But no, she had to have a crush on Peter, the guy who made Captain America look like a fratboy. Felicia would have to look out for her. 

"How about," Felicia suggested, "you take a cold shower... with me?" 

Ana looked over Felicia's body, blushing. "Would Peter approve?" 

"I think it's safe to say yes." 

*** 

The shower took longer than usual; obviously. By the time they were done, Peter was back, sitting on the couch, sewing up his costume again. It was cut from sternum to belly, but he'd been just fast enough that the slash had only left a few scabbing lines. Mostly, the sight of him topless was an extremely welcome one. 

Felicia held up an arm to stop Ana from leaving the bathroom. "Would you like to watch us?" 

It took a moment for Ana to realize what she meant. "You would show me how to please him?" 

"Well... the thing about Peter is, what makes him happy is us being happy. So he's going to show you how to please me, which is also pretty important. It's my apartment, after all." 

"But his harem!" Ana protested. 

Felicia rolled her eyes. "My massaging showerhead." That ended the argument. She skirted her towel down to a level that it could not stay at. "Watch closely," she told Ana. Hips swaying, she left the bathroom, heedlessly passing by Peter as her towel came loose. 

"Oops," she said. Then kicked Peter's sewing away from him. "Oops," she repeated, taking him by the air, ushering him to the wetness Ana had started. 

Ana touched herself, but it wasn't them exactly that she was thinking of. 

*** 

Felicia had come into the room wearing a tightly closed trenchcoat, much as she might wear to cover her catsuit and wear it as street clothes. When she took it off, however, she wasn't wearing her normal costume, but a low-cut bodysuit of black leather, leaving her long legs exposed as well as most of her breasts. Her nipples would be visible if it weren't for her trademark white fur trim. Spiked heels made her seem even taller and more imposing. 

"Look at me," she ordered Sasha. "What do you see, you piece of shit?" 

Sasha snarled right back, tearing at the webbing holding her down. "A whore for Spider-Man! A cock-sucking, cum-drinking whore!" 

Felicia smiled suddenly, putting the lie to her dominatrix act. Some people really thought she went in for that sort of thing, like that bint from Gotham. She wasn't the one who used a whip. "Good. We match." 

She reached down to the zipper hidden at her crotch. A little pull and both her pussy and asshole were exposed. The fur on her crotch matched that of her neckline. 

"You really thought you were high-class, didn't you?" Felicia spoke almost sadly. "Some master villain like the Green Goblin or Doc Ock, just because you let some OG bad guy spurt in you? Lady, you're not even a Hobgoblin. You're a pesty little annoyance that's irritated the man I love, so even though you're ridiculously unimportant, I'm gonna kick your ass just for being such a goddamn bother. And then, once I've punished you for all the shit you've pulled, you're going to get more fucking than most women get in their entire lives. Because I'm nice like that." 

Sasha rubbed her thighs together, hating the feel of her sex sparking in excitement. She could still feel Mary Jane's tongue fouling her body. But something about the harsh way Felicia spoke was exciting her more than ever, shamelessly exciting her. She felt more degraded than ever and she liked it. There was nothing she could do to halt the rising passion she felt. 

Smiling sadistically, Felicia threw herself onto the bound woman, straddling her, then coming down with vicious slaps on Sasha's face, whipping it from side to side with the force of her blows. Sasha refused to cry out, but she couldn't help but feel her cunt growing slicker and wetter from the rough treatment. Then Felicia punched her in the face, leaving her eyes watering, and slid down Sasha's body, slapping her full breasts, her downy stomach, her taut ass. 

Sasha rolled to and fro, trying to squirm away from the hands that came whistling down on her body like bombs, but there was no escape. Then Felicia knelt between Sasha's thrashing legs, forcing them apart with her knees, and slapped Sasha right in the cunt. 

"Sergei!" Sasha cried with the terrible, beautiful agony that iced its way up her battered body. "Help me, Sergei, don't let her-!" 

Felicia slapped her pussy again and again, only stopping to roll Sasha over as far as the webbing would allow, dig her fingernails into Sasha's full ass, and rake scarlet lines, hot as coals, down Sasha's buttocks. Through the slit in her bodysuit, Sasha could see she was dripping wet. 

"Stoooop!" Sasha cried at last. "Please stop, I'll do anything, I'll do anything you want!" 

Felicia grabbed Sasha by the hair, wrenching it nearly off her scalp. "You're goddamn right you will, you little cunt. I haven't even started to make you pay for all the shit you've pulled, on my family, on my city! Fucking piece of shit—I should just kill you right now and save Peter the time he'd waste sticking his magnificent cock in your worthless cooz." 

"No, no!" Sasha begged. "Please, I'm sorry!" She thrashed helplessly, tears rolling down her cheek like Felicia was still beating her. "I'll do anything, I promise, just please stop!" 

Felicia jerked Sasha's head up. "You're lucky, bitch. You're talking to a veteran of the penal system. I guess it'd be hypocritical of me of me not to let you off on good behavior. If you get me off with good behavior." 

Sasha was half-conscious, the burning of her adrenaline beginning to fade, replaced with the riptide of aches and pains from her bruising. And yet her whole body felt alive, she felt energized. The hunt had gone all wrong, she was out of ammo, weaponless, the predator had become the prey and she was being stalked now, but that was the risk that came of hunting, that was the point of the hunt, the gamble, and she felt her body exult in it every bit as much as she would at victory. God, she was so aroused, burning in the silky hollow of her stomach. 

"I'll eat your pussy," Sasha moaned, staring up at Felicia with adoring, pleading eyes. "I'll... I'll show you what I learned from Mary Jane. If you let me suck your pussy—it's such a pretty pussy—I'll make you feel so good. Just tell me what to do! Please tell me what to do!" 

Felicia stared down at the reddening body of her prey, proud eyes now wet with pain and lust and submission. With a cry of lustful triumph, Felicia straddled Sasha's face. 

"You belong to me!" Felicia shouted, silencing Sasha's pitiful begging with her wet cunt. "Me and Peter own you! Your tits, your gash, your useless mouth, they're mine now! That's my tongue in your mouth now, and I want it licking my cunt!" 

While adept at inflicting pain, Sasha was more a believer in 'dishing it out' than 'taking it'. So though Felicia had hurt her comparatively little, especially in comparison to what Sasha had done to her enemies, Sasha was suffering so much that she nearly came just at the knowledge that Felicia wouldn't hurt her any more. Aroused and fearful in equal measure, she opened her mouth under the leaking lips of Felicia's sex and tasted a woman's juices for the first time. 

"Yeah," Felicia moaned. "Make me come. Make me come real good. Usually, it'd be Peter's job, but tonight, he's gonna be too busy fucking you..." 

Sasha trembled in fear, was degraded by what she was being forced to do, but however much her body ached, it was nothing compared to the fires lighting up in her swollen pussy. She slithered her tongue into Felicia's clutching sex, felt the taste bloom in her mouth, and Felicia responded powerfully. Bucked against Sasha's face, driving it into the bed's headboard like she was dribbling a basketball. 




Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 07



"Oh fuck!" Felicia gasped. "You're as good at eating pussy as your daughter! Now I know where you bitches get it from. Must be fucking genetic." She rode Sasha's tongue like a horse. "Oh, you whores are wasted on weirdo fucking Russians with dumb-ass goatees! I'm so glad you're on our side now. Licking our beautiful cunts like you were born to. I can't wait until Ana gets here. MJ can sit on her face while I ride yours. And Peter, Peter can fuck both of you-!" 

The thought crescendoed in a scream, Felicia's voluptuous body rocking with a series of firecracker climaxes, wetly exploding on Sasha's lips. Sasha whimpered, feeling the death of the Kravinoff line, the death of the woman who'd been Sergei Kravinoff's great love. She was now a groveling whore, a creature of sex and pain. Her beaten body was torn open by a painful orgasm, Sasha realizing just how completely she'd been debauched. 

Felicia was coming in her mouth, Sasha's mind shattering with the thought that it was the Spider's whore, not even his wife, but his bitch that was doing this to her, washing away her old life in streams of liquid pleasure. 

Felicia caught her breath as Sasha gulped her cum, as quickly as possible, drinking down every drop forced into her mouth. "Now we'll find you some new clothes. Some nice lingerie that old ladies like you need to keep Peter interested. I'll see if I can find one with a lion's face on the front, for old time's sake." 

*** 

A few days and Peter was finally letting her patrol with him. Ana enjoyed it. Like being on a hunt with her mother, she was able to rejoice in the ecstasy of sharing something so intimate with someone so special. She intended to bring him a great trophy... 

She kept up with him through ease as he put her through her paces, leading her to Park Avenue and an apartment building with a smattering of police vehicles and news crews collected in front of it. They slipped in through an open window as quickly as a dart. 

"Just heard about it on the police scanner," Peter said. "Guys came in disguised as TV repairmen, kidnapped the daughter of the guy who invented the new Sprite flavor." 

Ana looked around the room dismally—empty except for police tape fluttering in the AC, waiting for another going over from CSI—and replied "So let police handle it. They can afford to pay ransom. Let's go handle bank robbery in Spanish Harlem instead..." 

"Hornhead can handle that," Peter replied. "And I don't care if they can pay the ransom, I don't want a little girl to be scared and alone any longer than she has to be!" 

Ana grimaced, snarling at herself for displeasing him. Of course. New York was his territory. King of the jungle. He couldn't just allow interlopers... "Does anyone in the family smoke?" 

Peter gave his surroundings another look, though he'd already scanned them. "No cigarette packs, no ashtrays..." 

"I smell tobacco. Recent, but not old. Only in top layer." 

Suddenly Ana was looping out off the fire escape, down to the ground, Peter following her. Seeing the two of them, the news people came in with microphones and cameras like an angry mob would wield torches and pitchforks. Peter ignored the shouted questions. He wasn't worried about Ana's secret identity. She wore one of Felicia's domino masks and safari wear like her father's. 

"What?" 

Ana was picking at the gutter. "Cigarette butts. Same brand. Washed away by rain yesterday, but old smell, lingering smell." 

"A stake-out?" 

Ana patted the pavement. "Car parked here, person waited, smoked cigarettes. Smell still on him when he go inside." 

"That does help us." Peter wrapped an arm around Ana and jumped, carrying her up to a building top. Ana brushed her lips around his chest. Soon. 

He called Felicia, asking her to hack into the city's CCTV cameras. The police had checked them at the time of the abduction, but Peter'd already heard they'd used a stolen car, ditched it in a shadow zone. His hunch was right. Felicia found a car that'd been parked in the same spot three times in the last week, an ex-con dumping his Turkish Blends out his open window. The car was registered to him. It came with an address in the Bronx. 

*** 

Two in the living room, one in the bedroom, probably not much room in the bathroom. Unless they had reinforcements in the neighboring apartment, Peter didn't see any problems with letting Ana help. He went into the living room, webbed up the guns before they could unwisely void their deposit, let them tucker themselves out with some blocks and parries, then shoved them back and webbed them up the rest of the way. 

Ana had gone into the bedroom. She came out with the girl in her arms. "She's fine. They had her in bathtub." 

"And the third man?" 

"Less fine. But finer than he could be." 

Peter nodded to her. "Good work." He held out his arms and Ana set the little girl down. She ran to him. A big fan. 

*** 

It was a busy day. They also foiled some muggings, put out a car fire, webbed up a van of Hammerhead's goons with their drugs still in their briefcases. And Peter took Ana to the Daily Bugle, gave her the tour, introduced her to a few people, and put in a good word for her with Robbie about their intern program. He'd promised a callback once her application was processed. 

Felicia had a bottle of 130-year-old brandy waiting for them to celebrate their victory, which she promised was not stolen, or at least wouldn't count as stolen when she returned it. Peter consented to a finger, as did Felicia, though Peter only took a sip before letting Ana have his. 

Felicia, as always, had plans for them. She'd been aghast to hear Ana had never seen Bridget Jones's Diary, and with Peter calling it a night, he was trapped between them on the sofa. Ana curled up against him, head in his lap, while Felicia rested comfortably under his arm, answering all the questions Ana had about just about everything. 

("If she wants both Hugh Grant and Colin Firth, why does she not simply invite both in bed with her? She has a mouth, she has cunt, she has her bottom...") 

Peter was more entertained by Ana's questions than the movie. When the credits rolled, he turned the TV off, obligingly picked Felicia up since she had her arms around him, and took her to her bedroom. He helped Felicia out of some of her clothes, then undressed himself, noticing Ana in the doorway finally. 

"You've been sleeping with Felicia," he asked. 

Ana nodded. "It's like being part of a family again." 

"She wants me with her." 

"I know." 

Peter looked away. Even without the mask, Ana knew he was thinking keenly, the same as he had trying to figure out where the girl had gone. She stood silently, waiting for his decision. 

"Do you want to stay?" he asked. "It's a big bed." 

"I would." 

Peter nodded. "Get the door then." 

*** 

He slept on one side of the bed. Felicia slept under his arm. Ana slept behind Felicia. She didn't mind being the bigger spoon. She'd been that for her mother, sometimes. When Sasha missed Sergei. 

Peter fell asleep quickly. Ana wondered if he'd ever been a night owl like Felicia. Like herself. 

"Well-played," Felicia said, when she was sure he was asleep. 

"Playing implies plan. I'm just waiting." 

"Keep waiting. He's slow to trust people, trust them not to hurt him—but he's also worth it." 

"Yes." Ana's eyes trailed down Peter's bare body, down to the recesses of his boxers, the imprint of his manhood. She did not know the sight of it, but now she knew its size. "Can I touch myself?" 

"Yes," Felicia told her. 

Ana slipped her hand down into her panties, Felicia watching in case she needed any pointers. 

*** 

Sasha was still and dark, paralyzed, unable to force herself to breathe. She'd heard that was what it felt like to drown. Not struggling or flailing—you just went under. And she was drowning... 

Ana stood in the room, watching her, not saying a word. She looked to the door, sensing Peter's arrival. Then she went to the bed, lying down beside her naked mother as Spider-Man came in the room. 

The Spider approached slowly, Sasha cringing away from him, knowing his eyes were tracing all over her nudity, nakedness meant only for her husband. Ana held Sasha still. 

"Look, Peter," she said. "Her breasts are so big from having me. Her pussy nice and loose for you because I came out of it." 

The Spider stood over Sasha. He reached down with one gloved hand, crudely entering Ana's sex. She wailed—it already felt good. 

"Seems tight enough." He tugged down his fly. "I can fix that." 

Sasha's eyes grew even wider at the sight of his cock. He was bigger than Sergei had ever been! 

Next to them, Ana relished the sight of her mother's forced pleasure, her suffering the wonderful cruelty of his slow and relentless invasion. Through the mask, Spider-Man's grimace was pure lust, feeling Sasha's tight muscles double down on his advancing hardness. As much as she wailed, as much as she flailed, the look on her face was one of lust; the pressure on his cock was need. 

"Don't tell me you're not enjoying yourself," Spider-Man smiled down at her, making Ana laugh, and the woman twisted her head away, trying to hide in her own world of pain and humiliation. 

Spider-Man flexed his throbbing cock deep inside her; she groaned, the cords of her stately neck standing out from her whole body growing tense. 

"Answer me," he ordered her. "Most women would give anything for a fuck like this." 

"I certainly did," Ana added as Spider-Man arched up into Sasha again. 

Spider-Man jammed himself into Sasha suddenly, the woman's teeth clenching together so hard they nearly shattered as she tried to keep her moan locked inside. He scraped his gloved hand over her, roughly squeezing her breast, bringing a stiff nipple up to the light. "Yeah, you're enjoying it. So be polite and ask for more." He withdrew a few inches, Sasha shaking as he deliciously tapered out of her. "Let me hear you beg for it." 

"No, never—" 

Ana reached over and slapped her. "Beg! Now!" 

Sasha felt her hard heart giving over to pain, panic, to the pleasure she'd denied herself so long. I can hurt him later, she thought. If I just get through this, I can resume the hunt... 

She ignored the slickening squelch of his prick through her wet sex, saying "Do it, please, do it to me." 

Spider-Man kept pulling his swollen cudgel from her tightly quivering pussy. It was almost out now. "Do what?" 

Sasha had never felt so helpless, so vulnerable, so weak. 

It turned her on so much. 

"Fuck me!" 

Ana gave him a nod, but Spider-Man didn't need her to sense the loss of her mother's last resistance. He brought his mask low to Sasha's face, her contorted face vast and painfully stark in the reflection of his lenses, his cock beginning a slow rocking motion back between her widespread thighs. 

Sasha groaned in helpless recognition of her own pleasure. Part of her wanted to die, part of her had never felt so alive—that part made her want him to kill her all the more. In her desperation, she tried to help him, throwing her pelvis up against his stately entry into her, feeling him going deeper inside her, claiming her, screaming with every useless, powerful thrust she made against him. 

As much as she tried to cling to it, the pain was leaving her, replaced with something masochistic, lewd, sensual. She was responding to his work between her open, muscular thighs, her entire body twisting and contorting beneath his thrusts, her mouth working out mewls of servile acceptance, pleasured satiation. As a light sweat coated her body, she leaned up to answer his coital thrusting with her tongue, running it over his mask. 

Sasha felt, thrillingly, his hands slip over the naked curves of her hips, under her rounded buttocks, squeezing them harshly in either hand as he thrust into her with a greater frenzy. As he pulled her to his hardness, she opened her trembling thighs even further, experiencing her tormented pussy being entered fuller than ever. 

Ana couldn't be left out any longer. She moved down to capture one of Sasha's bouncing breasts between her teeth, nibbling it and sucking it as she had as a child. Sasha sobbed at the new debasement, her newfound ecstasy, and Spider-Man surged with his every ounce of grunting strength, fucking Sasha with a fury he would never use on Felicia or Mary Jane. Her cries, pained but pleasurable, only made him rut into her harder as Ana sucked and twitched beside him. 

The electricity of their newfound relationship, master and slave, burst through the three of them in a stroke of lightning. Ana threw her leg over one of Sasha's widespread thighs and rode it to a fast, dirty climax, her cries mingling with Sasha's as the older woman seesawed up against Spider-Man, coming just as fast. 

"Time to give you a sister, Ana," Spider-Man cried, unleashing his load into Sasha's womb with wild, trembling arches that pulled his body as taut as a drawn bowstring. He buried himself to the balls in her, and she clung to him in pure, abandoned relief. 

"Is it over?" Sasha asked fearfully, feeling the last jerk of Spider-Man's cock inside her. It had not noticeably diminished, but still she was afraid he would take it away. 

"No." Spider-Man nodded to Ana, who reached under the bed, coming up with one of Felicia's favorite strap-ons. She pulled it on, attached it to herself with well-practiced familiarity, and moved to take Spider-Man's place as he stepped away from Sasha. "I don't know how much it'll help to push my cum halfway up your throat, but it can't hurt. Meanwhile..." He stepped behind Ana, gripping his revitalized cock to her entrance. "Let's see about giving you a granddaughter." 

*** 

Two fingers reaming her open cunt, digging in and out like the stab of a knife, Ana finally climaxed. Peter had made her such a good girl. A superhero. She knew now what her fantasies were showing her, why they were so vivid. 

For a long time, she'd known that her mother would come to reclaim her. That she would be forced to choose between the old way and the new. Now she knew; she didn't have to. Peter would change Sasha, just as he had Ana. Once Sasha saw how good it was to be Peter's broodmare, how wonderful a huntsman he was, she would join his harem willingly. Ana just had to make her see. 

She couldn't wait for them to be a family again.



Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 08



They laid down in the same bed that night, but only Peter slept. With the patience of a thief, the patience of a hunter, the women waited for Peter to slumber. It didn't take long. His work-day was long and arduous. Once he was out of it, they turned on each other like hungry animals.

They kissed and petted, explored each other's bodies for every inch of softness, whispered in the other's ear every filthy thing in their imaginations, came once, twice, three times with Peter none the wiser. After two hours, they'd gone simply as hot as they could go. Reached the point of no return.

"Are you ready?" Felicia asked Ana conversationally, louder than even the muffled cries of her climaxes had been. Ana nodded eagerly.

Leaving the engine running on Ana, one hand still hungrily rubbing Ana's thigh, Felicia leaned over to Peter's side of the bed. She drew the sheets down his still body, then his boxers down his slender legs. Her long, silken hair fell from her bent shoulders, down to drape over his exposed manhood. Felicia bent to that, soft pink lips giving way to a hot red tongue. It slithered like a snake onto his upper thigh, tracing a scar left long ago. Felicia thought it was lucky. Lucky because if it were any higher, her tongue would have nowhere to go.

As Ana watched with bated breath, and Peter's breathing similarly pitched, Felicia traveled to Peter's organ. It stirred with the playing of her tongue on his wrinkled sack, then became a ready weapon as her kisses left trace of saliva on his inner thighs, his lower belly, the base of his shaft. His cock was soon an inch longer than it had been when she started. It did not stop growing.

"Yes," Ana said, her body shaking now, a transcendent feeling spilt through her. "Yes!"

Felicia sucked one of Peter's large testicles into her mouth, massaging it in its warming scrotum with her teeth and tongue. When it started to pulse against her lips, she spat out the soaked flesh and captured Peter's other ball. Peter's awakening manhood reared through her hair. Ana could barely look away, barely see Peter's face as his brow furrowed, his head moving restlessly from one end of his pillow to the other.

Then Felicia brushed her hair back behind her ears, opened her lips wide, and took Peter not only into her mouth, but down her throat.

Peter moaned, muttered under her breath. His cock was molten lead, ready to cool into hard metal inside Felicia's nice wet pussy. Precum began to pull into Felicia's mouth as Ana moved in, kissing at Felicia's cheek, Peter's pubic hair, trying to get the woman's tongue in her mouth, or the man's cock—anything.

Felicia pushed her aside. She sucked harder and faster, knowing Peter was really enjoying her work. She was as hot as he was hard, and something about sucking on a sleeping man, while he was still and vulnerable, made her pussy twinge. She knew he would wake up and fuck her; she knew it would be amazing.

Peter moaned, but his eyes were still shut as he twisted under Felicia's mouth. "God, you know how to suck cock, Cat. Jesus Christ, you should give lessons!"

Felicia smiled around his prick, glad he hadn't said the redhead's name. As much as she too loved Mary Jane, it was good to know that when it came to a little head, she was the first thought on his mind.

All good things, though. She pulled back, his cock popping out of her mouth, and his straining, unspent pleasure brought Peter out of his stupor. He blinked away, staring down in shock that slowly gave way to understanding as Felicia crawled back on top of Ana. Delivering Peter's taste to the huntress's mouth.

"Your hotel," Peter said, "has one hell of a wake-up call."

"Funny you should mention that," Felicia replied, moving down Ana's tensed body. She pried apart the girl's legs. "Ana's turn now."

The pounding in Felicia's ears was soon trapped by Ana's thighs. She drove her tongue into the young woman's slit, loving the slick feeling of wetness-against-wetness. Her own thighs were spread, her own hand knowing exactly how to please her.

"I love it, I love it!" Ana cried, trying in vain to hold back her cries with her fist against her mouth. "Oh, God, how can it be so good without a man--?"

"Ask a silly question," Felicia sighed, running her hands over Ana's bottom, her tongue between her labia.

Looking up into the huntress's eyes, she could see Ana's thoughts running in dizzy circles. Ana was trapped by the feel of Felicia on her, chilled warmth in the darkness, smooth breasts running over her thighs, following the hungry mouth hunting in her femininity for anything sweet and succulent.

Then Felicia felt Peter moving behind her, hands squeezing her ass, massaging her thighs, opening up her legs for his knees to settle between—a pregnant pause as he stopped touching her with one hand, but it was just so he could align his cock with her sex. Felicia imagined it: eating out Ana while Peter fucked her from behind. Who cared if they called it doggy style?

Still, there was the Felicia that was impulsive and there was the Felicia that stayed out of prison, used sex as a weapon, would not let even her beloved Spider-Man get in her way. And this wasn't a fuck. It was a plan.

"No," Felicia said, twisting onto her side and resting her head right on Ana's pubis to look back at Peter.

Peter stood there with his dick in his hands, literally. "What?"

"No. As in, no means no? I don't want to have sex with you."

Well, this is a first. Impressive survival instincts kept Peter from going with that quip. Besides, he was too confused to make with the funny. "You were literally just going down on me."

"And now I'm literally not. What are you gonna do? Sue me?"

Peter looked like he was about ready to tear his hair out, but he was too good a guy to press the issue. "Okay, I—yeah, I'm assuming if your apartment has hot running water, it's also got a cold shower."

"Oh, very cold," Felicia said. "But if it were me, I'd just have sex with Ana. You'd be fine with that, wouldn't you Annie?"

"I am ready to receive your—" Felicia pinched the Kravinoff girl, intimately. "Yes. I am."

"You want me to have sex with Ana," Peter said, partly uncomprehending, partly comprehending all too well.

"I know I am," Felicia said, and turned over, slipping over Ana to stretch out against the headboard, putting her magnificent ass on display.

She gave it a slap and Ana obeyed, followed, crawling on all fours to Felicia's rump as the Cat jutted it out for her. Wiggled so the rounded cheeks bunched together. Ana took hold of her hips and kissed the buoyant bulge like it was one giant set of lips.

"Mmm, Ana," Felicia purred, twisting her ass into and away from the woman's kisses. "I can tell you've been 'Kraven'..."

Ana was on her hands and knees, bowing to Felicia who bowed to the headboard. Peter knelt behind them on the mattress. Like he would reach out to pet an animal, he extended his hand until it made contact with the gently moving flesh of Ana's swaying ass. His palm rubbed over the sweet, silken texture. His eyes riveted themselves to the pink set of lips underneath. His other hand began to stroke himself.

Ana slipped her hand around Felicia's hips, running over the martini-chilled smoothness until she got to the soft hair of the thief's cunt. She fingered it for Felicia as she licked the satiny flesh of her lover's ass. It was unclear which was making Felicia squirm and whimper more.

"Between the cheeks!" Felicia gasped. "See what it tastes like when Spider fucks me in the ass!"

Eagerly, Ana pushed her tongue into the crack of Felicia's ass, licking her way to the fiery pucker of Felicia's hole. Black Cat cried out throatily. "Lick my asshole! Tongue me in my tight little ass! Yes! Oh, hell yes!"

Peter's left hand continued to stroke Ana's buttocks, mapping it just as his right hand did back forth along the length of his manhood. But at Felicia's nigh-orgasmic outburst, he stopped like a man woken from a trance. Had to blink twice to get his bearing.

He was naked. The two women were naked. His cock was hard and eager in his hand and Ana's cunt was right in front of him.

"I never could say no to you," he said, positioning himself behind Ana, then lunging forward.

Ana had been so intent on one prey that she'd forgotten the other. She'd been nearly overwhelmed by the succulent flesh before her eager mouth—the timid resistance of Felicia's opening anus, then the sweet taste of her pleasure—that Peter's caress of her own ass almost hadn't consciously registered. Now she felt the pressure of his hardened cock against her sex, so thoughtfully lubricated by Felicia, and she had only the barest of moments to rejoice that it was her alpha before he thrust inside her with a spear of rock-hard flesh.

Her claiming was long and ecstatic. The climax was distant, but when it finally arrived with the light of the dawn, Ana could've sworn that all three of them came at once.

***

Ana awoke long before the others. The flipside of being a predator: she knew when she was prey. Naked, still smelling deliciously of Peter, she left him and Felicia to their togetherness and wandered out to where she'd left her phone. She answered it almost before it rang.

"Mommy?"

"Ana. You disappeared, little girl. What have you been hunting?"

"The Spider."

"And have you killed him?"

"No, Mother, but—"

"Then come home. We have other plans."

"Yes, Mother, but I must speak to you."

"After we've bathed you. I can smell this foul city on you just from hearing your voice."

Ana dressed quickly. Left Peter and her fellow broodmare still sleeping. They weren't predators; at least not her breed. They hunted during the day. She was nocturnal.

***

Their outpost was an office in the Empire State Building, easily reachable by private elevator and window, hidden in plain sight. A shell company rented the small room, the door was frosted glass and a lawyer's name; inside was everything they needed to operate in New York. Ana entered the usual way and found the rooms empty, their tools and weaponry lying silent. Only when she entered the bathroom did she find her mother, a vision floating in the bathtub. Seeing her, Sasha stood.

"You stink of a man," Sasha said, the water dripping off her as effusively as her disdain. "Were you raped?"

"No, Mother."

"Then you took a lover."

"Yes, Mother."

"And when were you planning on bringing him to me? When his seed grew in your belly?"

"No, Mother—it's complicated."

"Foolish girl. Foolish, American girl. I should be leaving right now, without so much as a towel, to rip his throat out for laying hands on you. Is that the attention you wish from me?"

"No, Mother."

"Strip. In the tub, now. Since you wish to act like a little girl, I'll wash you like one."

"Yes, Mother."

Sasha watched her daughter's body come out as Ana took her clothes off. She focused her hawkish eyes on Ana's lithe young flesh, her tiny, firm nipples, her pear-shaped breasts. Wisps of yellow pubic hair peeked from between her closed thighs, adorned with dried seed.

Sasha nodded. Ana was no longer a child. She was a woman now. Sasha had put off finding her a husband for too long. She had now committed the same transgressions of her flesh as her father had with the whore Calypso, and yet Sasha could not be too angry with her. It tied her together even more closely with Sergei, and Sasha enjoyed seeing any sign of the great hunter in her flesh and blood.

Sasha stepped out of the bath. Ana stepped in. Obediently splayed herself from one end of the tub to the other. She looked up at her mother's firm, muscular body looming over her, seeing the scars and tattoos, but also the rounded beauty in her breasts and bottom, a resemblance between her close-cropped hair and her shorn pubis. She stared at Sasha's sex, thinking of Felicia's, the soft fringe of hair like lewd thoughts preceding a fuck, the glint of soft pink lips, the hint of a clitoris begging to be touched.

Ana's mother had a beautiful cunt. She wondered what Sasha thought of hers.

"M-mother," she began in a soft whisper, "have you ever been with a man excepting Father?"

Sasha scowled even as she blushed. "No. Never."

"But it's been so long! How could you spend so many years without love?"

"I was loved. I had you." Taking a soapy washcloth, Sasha lathered down the slender column of Ana's throat and across her smooth, tanned shoulders and down to the slimness of her waist and lower, over the swell of her hips. She drank in her creation's loveliness, moving last to Ana's thighs and the coating of sperm that Sasha assiduously wiped away. "I had my hatred, my mission. And I knew, know I can have your father back if only the proper choices are made."

"What if you didn't need him back? What if there were someone else?"

"The pretender?" Sasha scoffed. "Some game show host in the other world? No. I'd rather lie with your father as a corpse than accept such a cheap substitute."

Ana took Sasha's hand, feeling it tremble, and impulsively pressed it to her warm breasts. "Not him. Someone special. A predator, like Father was, but even more powerful, more cunning. A hunter of the most dangerous prey; this city's villains. He captures them again and again, always alive, always armed with little more than his wits and his might."

"One of the heroes?" Sasha asked. "Who would have us?"

"I've already been given over to him." Ana looked lovingly at her mother, loving her more this moment than ever before, feeling now that all her confusion and pain was shared by this, her closest, truest family. "He has two broodmares already. They are not enough to satisfy his lusts."

"What are you saying?"

"If we keep going, you will have Father, but I will have no one. But if you join me, we can both have him. We'll be more than mother and daughter. We'll be sisters."

"Out of the question! I won't be some whore! Ana, remember the plan. We will bring your father back, we will slay the Spiders one by one. Remember the boy in the other world who wronged you so. He will be brought low, his women bled before him, and I will spare his life only so that he may serve you. My daughter. My great love. Open your thighs, Ana."

With a gentle hiss, Ana rolled her legs apart, and Sasha fully saw her daughter's slit, the reddish color to its labia, swollen with desire, the blonde hair that had been absolutely drenched in the evidence of her fucking. Sasha remembered when Sergei had so blessed her. Perhaps it was the memory—it had to be the memory—but she felt her throat tighten, her chest grow tighter still.

Sasha took a deep breath and brought the washcloth under the water, to Ana's waiting sex, where she stroked it back and forth.

It was warm to the touch.

"The boy might satisfy me," Ana said, moaning from the sudden contact. She tried to stop herself from reacting openly, but her body tingled every time the rough-edged cloth moved over her. "But the man... the man possesses me. How long has it been, Mother, since you were taken, properly, wholly, as a lioness is had by her jungle king?"

Sasha nearly growled. The last few years had been frustrating. She hoped her daughter would never experience such... need.

Ana continued, taking the first quiet lunge. "I was well-used by the men you sent me to... but it was not always unpleasant. Like an unaimed shot, sometimes their fumbles in the dark would spark something in me. I would come back and pull on that thread—in the loneliness of my own room—touch myself, learn my whole body like a blind woman feeling something in the blackness. I know now what I sought—what the man gives me—that spear-plunge of wellness inside me. It relaxed me so; chilled my blood. I always felt bad about that, like I had betrayed you. But you've done it too, Mother. Haven't you?"

Sasha continued to brush her daughter's pubic hair with the wet cloth, moving down one soft thigh and up the other. Something stabbed through Sasha. Like her first kill, she was partly repulsed, partly captivated. She drew the washcloth over Ana's moon-shaped buttocks, then back to her valley. The thing stabbed deeper into her.

"Yes. But I only ever thought of your Father!"

Ana shuddered and gasped for air, her trembling legs spread wider for her mother's touch, one leg out of the tub, dripping over the side. "What did you use? The handle of a hairbrush? The hilt of a dagger?"

"Only my fingers," Sasha said, and saw her hands at Ana's crotch. It was like she had never seen them before. She didn't look, but she was acutely aware of her own sex—the place that had felt her touch so often.

Ana looked over intently at her mother's soft mound. The rest of her was dry. That was still wet. She imagined Peter's cock spearing in and out of that wet cunt, filling it with overflowing semen, and her fingers working inside it, teaching Sasha the same lovely pleasure Felicia had taught her.

Ana spoke as if in a trance, as if her lovely Peter were telling her what to say. "I used to use the blue hairbrush... you gave it to me when I was twelve for killing that bear." Her voice was lost in a feverish hush. "One of the men you sent me to, he used a vibrator on me. It made me feel so much better than any of them had. When I left, I took it with me. Stole it..."

Sasha swallowed hard. She was agitated by Ana's immodest talk—they rang with blasphemy. She had always been so ashamed, needing her fingers to curtail the unwanted hunger that grew in her as stubbornly as a cancer. She had never thought to use anything else. To taint something else with her wayward lust.

Her stomach was a cage. She had built it around a thousand butterflies, captured within her on every long, lonely day. As Ana spoke of what she did with her vibrator, Sasha felt her breasts throb. Her own daughter was exciting her. And Ana's dainty pink groin, the clitoris that nestled within, they were becoming sweetly erect. Drawing her in...

Ana stared openly at Sasha's sex. She droned on mercilessly. "I'd sit on my bed—I'd wait for the urge to come—it grew inside me and I'd try to resist it, for you, Mother. But I always reached for the vibrator. I'd always let it buzz and tickle at my panties, until they were too hot and wet to wear, then I'd draw them aside. Spread my legs. My little friend... I'd run it up and down my cunt, Mother. And when it was nearly there... when it was too big for my body... I'd push it inside myself. I'd squeeze it inside me. Sometimes I wished you would find me like that, so you could tell me what to do..."

"Ana, don't..." Sasha begged, feeling a deep wetness inside her. It only got worse when she clenched her thighs together. "You're making yourself... upset."

Ana looked down, inside her spread legs. She looked past her hardened nipples, past her rich golden hair, to the coral smooth flesh of her sex. She placed a tentative finger there. It went right in.

"It feels so good, Mommy..."

And as she gently stroked the moist crevice inside, hips undulating in bounds of waves against her own hand, Ana looked sideways to her mother's sex—to the enticing pink flesh, the honeydew droplets forming uncontrollably, Sasha's body making an invitation her mind could not. Ana could smell the sweet feminine scent like it filled the room. She reached out, her fingers tentative, trembling, and touched Sasha's lower belly... her inner thighs. Circling the wet-hot edges of the pussy so much like her own. The feeling was satin, warmth, softness... so good to the touch.

Sasha gasped as she moaned. "What... what are you doing?" She jerked, whole physique convulsing from Ana's lancing touch.

It was pleasure. Undeniable pleasure to a body that had grown overused to its absence. She looked down to Ana's golden triangle, the taut ruby lips within, the ceaselessly working fingers. Knew that the same thing was happening between her legs. Passion was convulsing in her belly and her sex, Ana's fingers stroking like feathers. Sasha arched her back, arms spreading to either side of her, and knew she would come from this.




Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 08



"Let me, Mother," Ana begged. "Let me show you what Peter's taught me."

Sasha's eyes, coming inexorably close, snapped open. "Peter?"

"He fucked me so good. He fucked me and Felicia, and Felicia fucked me, and I fucked her. It's bliss, Mother. Letting him have you—it's endless bliss!"

"Peter Parker..." Gasping, her body overheated, Sasha pulled herself away. In her stupor, her wet feet nearly slipped on the tile floor before she steeled herself. "You... you let yourself be taken by the Spider?"

"I gave myself over to him. Mother, he's strong, stronger than you know, stronger than even Father was!"

"Silence! You whore, I can't believe... little slut... he was the one that came inside you? That made you his?" Sasha's head was swimming. She felt short of breath.

"Again and again and again. Mother, there's no point in hunting him. He is the supreme predator. Imagine him leading us into battle! Every day, a new criminal to fall before our claws, our teeth. Every night, the pleasure of his bed..."

"I should kill you! Little whore!" Sasha looked around for a weapon. "Waste of your father's seed--!"

And as Sasha saw herself in the mirror—naked, flushed with arousal—she also saw Ana launch herself from the bath, tackle Sasha to the ground, dash her head on the linoleum floor. Then all Sasha saw was blackness.

"You don't know yet," Ana said. "You can't. But you will."

***

"An interdimensional portal?" Peter repeated, blinking against the morning light. Usually he didn't sleep in, but then, usually he didn't have sex with two women right in the middle of his sleep cycle.

"Built by Mysterio," Ana repeated. "It's a fusion of mysticism and technology. It works with Totems."

Peter heard the capital T. "Oh, great. Paging Mistress Web..."

"I've traveled through it myself. As a Hunter, I've replaced bears, lions—had to take a zoo hostage. But my mother's goals were conservative. If someone wished true harm, the results should be catastrophic."

"And you couldn't have told me this sooner?"

"I would not want to think you only took me to bed out of gratitude for giving you this thing."

Peter closed his eyes. Who knew having a harem could be such a headache? "Alright, keep an eye on the damn thing. I'll be there soon. We'll see if I can disable it before we get a visit from the planet of nothing but... shrimp. Or whatever."

***

"What the hell is this?" Through the glare-cutting crispness of his mask's lenses, Peter saw the room. The swirling vortex of extradimensional energy, the rift torn in reality and harnessed by infernal machines, that he was used to. The bed came as a surprise. And the woman in it, naked, spread-eagled, tied to all four bedposts, that was a shocker.

She was gagged, her nude body oiled down, her vagina shaved. If it had been MJ or Felicia, Peter would've been intrigued. But it wasn't.

"Peter," Ana said proudly. "I think it's time you met my mother."

Peter tensed. "I suppose it's for the best that she's tied up, but why is she naked? What's with the bed?"

Ana giggled confidently, like Peter was quizzing her and she had the answer. "So you can fuck her, of course." She leaned into him, embracing him, resting her head on his arm. "It's the only way she'll see how powerful you truly are, how worthy you are to claim her allegiance as a broodmare. If you make her come half as much as you did me, then she'll see how foolish it is to keep fighting you. Not when there are other ways so much more pleasurable..."

 Peter pushed her away. "Jesus Christ! Haven't you picked up anything? I'm not just gonna rape someone!"

"But it is only way," Ana said, uncertainty creeping into her voice. "She wants to avenge Father. She won't stop until she is dead or you are. The only other way is for her to give up Father; for you to be new Father!"

"She's tied up and gagged! I'm not doing anything with her but getting her something to wear!"

"But... doesn't her body please you?" Ana asked. She stepped closer, gesturing at Sasha's nudity. "She is older, yes, but her body is very nearly as firm as mine! It will not be long before I look as such, if I am lucky!"

"It's not about whether I'm attracted to her or not! I'm not going to do it because it's wrong, the same way it would be wrong to kill someone! You remember that, right?"

"Yes. It is wrong to kill. Taking our prey alive is more of a challenge, more worthy of greatness such as yours..." She saw Peter rubbing his sinuses. "What? What is it? What is wrong? Have I done something?"

"No. No. I just... I don't... how am I supposed to make you have any conception of right and wrong?"

"It is right to protect what is yours, to be strong, to the best. It is wrong to be weak, to be unworthy, to be unfit. This is the law of the jungle."

Peter's head was cast downward. "God... God..."

"Please!" Ana begged. "What have I done wrong? I did not mean to do anything wrong, I didn't mean to displease you—"

"It's not... it's not your fault. It's how you were raised. I just don't know—"

"You know." Now it was Sasha who had spoken. She had taken the gag off as she slipped behind Ana, brought the knife to her throat. "She's mine. My flesh and blood, and as much as you kiss her and inseminate her and lie to her, she will always be of my stock!"

Peter's hands tensed at his side. "Put the knife down, lady."

"You care for her. Even knowing what a monster she is. That's good. Move, there, to the circle in the floor. Otherwise I'll bleed her. You know I will."

Peter walked slowly to a space nearby the portal, sectioned off in green tape. My spider-sense isn't going off. What kind of death-trap is this?

"Look what you've done to your daughter. Your flesh and blood. She doesn't understand the most basic rules of living in civilized society."

"Civilized," Sasha sneered. "Were you civilized, killing my husband?"

"Was he noble with a gun in his mouth?"

Sasha scratched the knife's tip over Ana's jugular. "There are other worlds, Mr. Parker. Some where you've died. Some where my husband lives. We'd only just begun to explore them. The first in our explorations was—corrupted. It festers. Soon, it will be culled. If I cannot kill you myself, I would like to think of you trapped there, apart from your two whores, as the dying world breathes its last."

Peter stood there, inside the green tape. His spider-sense wasn't ringing. It was the only thing that let him keep still. "In the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger, 'ah'll be back.'"

"Give my regards to Mysterio. Tell him he's fired." And Sasha jammed the butt of her knife down on the console.

In a swirl of energy, a ripple of geography, Peter was gone. Ana screamed, Sasha tossing her aside, slapping her as she crumpled to the floor.

"Foolish child. Lucky for you; you never could tie a knot." As Ana wept, Sasha stared at the vortex, its colors flashing change after change. "The multiversal constant must remain the same. For one spider to go through, another must return. But if everything is continuing according to schedule, their web's avatar is dead by now. I wonder what will be traded to us in exchange..."

She didn't have to wonder long. A moment ago, the space had been filled by a man grown, the air around him crackling with his power, the weight of his experience, the confidence of his years. Now, two boys replaced him, short, slender, one springy, the other stocky. Where Peter had been calm, cool, collected, they wore their nervousness with fidgeting energy.

The first had on a costume similar to the Spider-Man he had replaced: the colors a different shade, the symbolic spiders on front and back slightly different, the lenses in his mask a different size, shape, and color. But it was clearly the same pattern.

While the second was another species entirely. His costume not blue, but black, with red webbing filtered through it in fragile lattices, covering his fingers but not his hands, his chest but not his legs.

"Uh," the first one said, his voice a feeble echo of Peter's confident patois. "Is it just me or did the opening credits of Doctor Who just happen in real life?"

The second one was looking at him. "Is it just me or are we double-booked?"

Then both turned to the women.

"Who're they?" the Spider-Man in black asked.

"Naked," the Spider-Man in blue replied unthinkingly, his eyes locked on Sasha Kravinoff—at least, parts of her.

Ana recognized the voice. "You!"

"Who's she?" the Spider-Man in black asked.

Under the mask, Peter Parker, age seventeen, began to swear. "Ex-girlfriend."

***

"Dude, you on your way to a convention?"

Peter awoke in an alleyway. Home sweet home. His whole body stung, one big bruise waiting to happen, and his spider-sense was acting like a cell phone running out of juice. He rolled over, off the face he'd apparently landed on, and saw a bum standing over him.

"Yeah. That's me. The amazing Convention-Man."

The bum shook his head. "You're way too tall, man. The real Spider-Man wouldn't come up to your shoulder."

"Uh-huh. And he shoots webbing out of little holes in his wrist..." Peter sat up painfully. "Talks to spiders... his dad genetically modified him as a kid... I've heard 'em all. 'Really tall' is nice. Does he also have a manly musk?"

The bum kept staring at him. "Buddy, you're weird. Tall as you are, with all your muscles, you should be Captain America."

Peter's eyebrows raised. "Thanks. That's actually kinda nice of you."

"He's a fucking fascist, but he's got a lot of muscles. You need a blanket?"

"It is a bit chilly this time of night." Peter looked up at the stars. Hadn't it been mid-morning when he'd fallen into the swirling vortex of terror?

"Here ya go," the bum said, offering him a newspaper.

One look and Peter seized it, turning it around, upside-down, coming to the front page. It was faded, tarnished, but the headline was still legible.

BROTHERHOOD OF MUTANTS LEADER CYCLOPS THREATENS MORE ATTACKS; ULTIMATES PROMISE SAFETY & SECURITY.

He dropped the paper. "Toto, something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore."

"My name's Roy," the bum said.



Gwen Stacy Syndrome



"It's... the bridge. It's where this old girlfriend of his died."

"Oh. Oh shit. I couldn't have known..."

MJ waved her off. "It's not your fault. It was years—years—ago. She wasn't even that good a girlfriend. Cheated on him." Mary Jane leaned in conspiratorially. "Got pregnant. Wanted him to raise it. Whole thing."

"Jee-zus."

"My thoughts. But he's... honestly, he's obsessed with her. He has dated her clone, her cousin, her daughter..."

"No!"

"Rapid aging. And... honestly, Carlie Cooper looks just like her. It's a Clark Kent/Superman sorta thing."

"God." Felicia reared back, though her hand stayed in Mary Jane's lap. "That's creeping me out now."

"You know what I call it? Gwen Stacy Syndrome. He just absolutely cannot let go of the past. We've all lost people—we live in New York, right?"

Felicia nodded. "So many supervillains you'd think it's a tourist attraction."

"But he just cannot let go. He'd probably make a deal with the Devil to get her back."

"Okay, that's bullshit. You are—please don't repeat this—you are the perfect woman, MJ. Any guy would be lucky to have you. They should be bidding on you like sheiks trying to get a new harem girl."

"Thanks. Semi-racist, but flattering."

"If only we could, like—slap some sense into him."

"He's been beaten up by the best. If Firelord's slaps haven't done any good..."

"Yeah, yeah," Felicia commiserated. "Hey, you know what? I'm declaring it Fuck Peter Parker Night. Fuck that guy and all his issues. We're young, we're fuckable, and we have a tab started. Let's dance!"

Felicia introduced Mary Jane to a great deal of drinks that night. There was the Flash Thompson, the Morbius, the Foreigner, the Puma, the Black Widow, the Wolverine, the Paladin, the Daredevil, and the Spot.

"Are all these named after exes?"

"You handle break-ups your way..."

They used Felicia's smart phone to video-tape each other competing over who was the most over Peter Parker. MJ did a bump and grind with a guy that made him propose marriage. Felicia twerked until a black girl started yelling at her about cultural appropriation. They did body shots, Felicia more than Mary Jane. MJ kissed a guy. Felicia kissed a girl. Finally, they kissed each other.

That was where Mary Jane's memory got slightly hazy.

It wasn't The Hangover. She had smoky memories of what happened when they were to Felicia's apartment. The feel of Felicia's soft clothes giving way to softer lace underwear, to even softer skin. The smell of her perfume, surprisingly subtle, only detectable when she was close enough to kiss. Her breathy little moans, uncovered by Mary Jane as she kissed and caressed and owned Felicia. The taste of her, strong but not vulgar, and otherwise indescribable.

She would've thought sex with the Black Cat would be so pornographic as to be unerotic. All screaming orgasms and sex toys and beaver shots and, God, squirting, gross. But it was just... nice. Soft and pleasurable. And here she thought men only liked Felicia because she had breasts with their own gravitational field. No. Oh no. Felicia was downright fun.

"Holy shit," Felicia said after, sprawled on her fucking waterbed in nothing but stockings. Mary Jane could've sworn up a storm, she looked so goddamn good. "I had no idea you were up for any of that. I thought this was going to be PG-13; I thought you were straight. That was not straight. You've been holding out on me, Ms. Watson."

"I swear, first time with another woman. Although I saw Wolverine with this Japanese woman one time? And, uh—that led to some weird dreams."

"Good as me?" Felicia asked, moving to Mary Jane's cheek with a kiss.

"You are a dream. I don't think anyone's good as you. You could teach Peter a thing or two about eating a girl out."

"I think I did," Felicia quipped, dashing herself on the shores of Mary Jane's body, slumping across the naked woman like a blanket. MJ let the cat burglar snuggle her head into her cleavage, feeling singularly appreciated. Whatever else Felicia did, she knew how to make a girl feel wanted. "Heh. Bet Peter wishes he were here now. He'd beg us to take him back. Even he's not neurotic enough to prefer punching the Shocker to this." Felicia punctuated the statement with a slap to Mary Jane's round ass.

Mary Jane yowled appreciatively and wrestled Felicia a little closer, taking a look around. Felicia's apartment was more spartan than she'd expected—maybe the kind of place a thief would ditch in sixty seconds? No photos, no mementos—just a surprising number of cat posters.

Mary Jane supposed everyone needed a reminder to 'hang in there'.

"I wish he were here," she said, running her hand down Felicia's smooth back. If she was lezzing it up for the night, she was going to get the most of it—and she always had kinda wanted to feel up the Black Cat a little. "Seeing the two of us, he'd definitely beg us to let him take off his little footie pajamas. Join the party."

"Mmm, you could have him." Felicia gently butted her head against Mary Jane, MJ's little kitten. "As long as I get to watch."

"Nah. He's all yours—do you know what a relief it would be to me for him to go out on patrol with a partner watching his back?"

"Even knowing there'd be rooftop quickies?"

"Better you than some skank—"

"—I am some skank—"

"Or Carlie Cooper!" they both said at once.

Mary Jane cried with laughter and Felicia kissed her over and over again, until MJ had rolled on top of her and pinned her hands to the headboard. The bed rocked beneath them, drawing their bodies together before separating them, the slight friction deliciously warm.

"Oooh... getting aggressive," Felicia moaned, rocking her hips up and sending another wave through the waterbed. "I knew you had to have a little bite to get that ring around your finger."

"Shh..." Mary Jane dropped a quick kiss onto her lips. "You know, that's not the worst idea you've ever had."

"What is the worst idea I've ever had?"

"Pretty much every costume you've ever worn except the classic one."

"Yeah... why do I keep thinking things are the new black? Black is the new black, same as the old black. But I'm a restless kitty. Keep trying to improve on perfection."

"I'm sure your plastic surgeon's grateful."

"I've never—"

MJ silenced her with another kiss. If she'd known how effective it was, she would've been heteroflexible years ago. "Keep shutting up. What if us two had a little superhero team-up of our own? One of us, he might be able to resist... but the two of us? You said it yourself. Even he's not that neurotic."

"You're talking about a threesome," Felicia replied, superhero enough to need to state the obvious every five seconds. MJ gave a nod. "And then... we share him?" Another nod. "So, a ménage a trois. We're just going to share him. Like that show, Three's Company."

"That wasn't actually the plot of—"

"How's it going to work?" Felicia asked. "You get him on days that begin with T, I get him on days that begin with S?"

"You wanna talk post-threesome logistics?"

"I don't want to get shut out. I don't want to spend a few weeks falling in love with you two, just for you to decide I'm a third wheel, like that summer I spent with Cable and Deadpool."

Mary Jane gave her a reassuring kiss, collapsing next to her on the pillow. For a moment, she was reminded of sleepovers back in high school. "You know us. We'd never do that. Even if I never fall in lurve with you, let's face it: I'm a slut. I would love to be your friend with benefits. And Peter, he's never liked having to choose between us. Break one of our hearts? No way. You know he's going to fight for us."

"So, you and me, that can be as casual or as serious as we want—"

"I'm never going to complain if you don't get me something for Valentine's."

"But with Peter—"

"Well... you never have been much for the domestic scene." Mary Jane put her arms around Felicia's ribs and pulled her close. She'd had stuffed animals that were less fun to cuddle. "And I can't exactly foil a bank robbery. So... You get the spider, I get the man. If you want to spend an afternoon lazing around the house with us, making pasta and watching TV, that's fine. And if you just want to swing off buildings, race headlong into insane danger, and make double entendres, that's fine too. No commitment. No judging. The three of us just do whatever we can to take care of each other." Mary Jane laughed. "You're an ex-con with a taste for kinky sex, he's a guilt-ridden vigilante, and I'm an actress. Clearly we need all the help we can get."

Felicia flashed a smile. "Okay then. Let's do it."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. He should be coming home from patrol soon. When he does, we make him an offer he can't refuse."

It'd been a long time since Mary Jane had smiled so wide. "I'll get my coat."

Felicia grabbed her before she could get out of bed. "Uh-uh-uh. I said he'd be back 'soon'. For now, I've got you all to myself. And I plan on enjoying myself."

"You're insatiable!" MJ giggled, willingly allowing Felicia to flip her over and embrace her from behind.

"Might as well be. I'm about to have two sexy bitches tending to my needs."

***

Early that morning, Peter came home from the most boring patrol he'd had in weeks. No supervillains, no team-ups, just pushers and muggers. He'd almost webbed up a pimp at one point. In fact, the night had been so quiet that he felt like swinging around the city all over again, just to find some action, but no. Dull nights like this, his time was best spent getting some sleep, sticking to some distant cousin of a normal circadian rhythm.

He came in through the window, took a deep breath without his mask on—and a spurt of web-fluid caught his left hand to the wall. Thwip! Another trapped his right hand, spread-eagling him upright. Now how the frick frack had his attacker managed to avoid ringing his spider-sense? Webbing, no spider-sense... Venom? Great. Just what he needed, an hour of misused personal pronouns.

"Hey Pete. I told my new bestie where you keep your spare webshooters." Mary Jane stepped out of the shadows, wearing the top of his spare spider-suit. Peter wasn't big, but he was tall—on MJ, the top fell down to her bare thighs, but the fabric was still pulled taut over her impressive bust. It merited a few huminas that Peter was too confused to say. Please don't let MJ be possessed by anything sexy, God, I don't think I have that kind of self-control. She's a redhead already, y'know.

"And I've always been good at making white fluid shoot out," Black Cat added, following MJ into the light as she took off a webshooter, pulling it free of some stuck hairs from her arm's fur lining.

"So much for subtlety," MJ quipped, as she shut the windows and pulled the blinds.

"Cat... MJ... mind telling me what this is all about?" Peter tested his bonds. He was way too good at making webbing. He wasn't getting loose without ripping out his own wall. "Did I forget your birthdays?"

"No, Spider, we want to make a deal." Felicia leaned over him, stopping just short of laying her breasts onto his chest. Peter tried not to breathe too deep. "A proposal, you might say. For all three of us. Red takes care of you while you're Peter. I take care of you while you're in that skintight outfit. And at night, you take care of both of us."

"Whoa, wait, hold on, did you get high and watch Wild Things?"

"Yes, but that was last week."

Mary Jane didn't give Peter the virtual lapdance that Felicia was, leaning aloofly against the wall by his hand, but she did stroke his captured palm with her fingers. "We've talked about it, Peter. We're just not happy being apart from you. And sure, it's unconventional..."

"It is?" Felicia asked. "Just three people?"

"Yes," MJ told her, "it is."

"But with two of them women?"

"I don't think it's been on a Ryan Murphy show, so—semi-weird."

Felicia sighed heavily. "Parker, you've been in the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, the New Warriors—"

"Hey, that was my clone!"

"Point is, this little team-up of ours would have you, scientist superhero comedian with a big dick; MJ Watson, actress/supermodel, and moi. Maxim's Hot 100 number forty-five. Top fifty! That's a pretty good ensemble, and you've been teammates with the Sentry. You really gonna turn up your nose at us?"

"That's not at all anything I've said! And did you need to tie me up for this conversation? If it were me and Black Fox tying you up and demanding nudity, Benson and Stabler would be involved."

"Well, yeah," Felicia said. "He's wrinkly. Otherwise, my safe word's Doop."

Mary Jane gave Felicia a sideways shove. "We aren't bad-touching you, Peter. We're just giving you a little demonstration."

"Of what you'll miss out on if you keep acting like Batman. C'mere, red." Felicia thrust out her chest. "If you would be so kind..."

Invited in, Mary Jane stepped up to Felicia to pull down her costume's zipper from chest level. But their closeness was blood in the water. She was drawn into a long kiss, her hands simply squeezing Felicia's breasts inside their leather prison. Their kiss surprised Peter; not just the fact that it was happening, but how sedate it was compared to the usual wild frenzy Felicia pounced on him with.

With MJ, Felicia was slow, almost tentative, rushing nothing. It wasn't a continuous kiss, but a series of mingled breaths interchanging with meeting lips. Their hands did reconnaissance on each other's bodies, testing the feel of them through the raised webbing of MJ's spider-top and the cool leather of Felicia's costume.

Gently, Felicia took hold of Mary Jane's wrists and ushered them downward. Her fingers tapering off the slopes of Felicia's cleavage, MJ took hold of the zipper once more and pulled it down Felicia's body like an artist using a brush on a canvas, painting a gorgeous picture.

Felicia arched her back, moaning as the air tasted her skin, as if being exposed to the gazes of her two would-be lovers brought her physical pleasure. Peter watched closely, even if he was kicking himself for it internally. He'd seen her naked a hundred times; she'd never been shy, even changing in front of him when they weren't romantically involved (he kicked himself then too). But as always, she was even better than he remembered.

Skin milky-white under the cascade of silvery hair, breasts even larger than Mary Jane... and God, how could he be expected to choose between them when she was just as beautiful? Where Felicia was brashly sexual, Mary Jane evoked a classical beauty, her make-up more natural, her hair carefully braided where Felicia's was wild. And they were making out right in front of him.

Peter stared, mouth actually hanging open, as Mary Jane buried her face in the generous cleavage she'd uncovered. The stiffness in his crotch became painful as Felicia moaned happily. "Keep going!" Felicia gasped. "Don't stop!"

Though MJ fumbled blindly for the zipper, unwilling to take her lips from Felicia's amazing tits for even a single second, she eventually found it and brusquely yanked it down. Then she was as surprised as Peter to find a goodly-sized black cock popping out of the tight confines of Felicia's suit.

"That's new," he said dumbly.

"Like it? It's for MJ. She just had her heart set on cock tonight..."

Mary Jane stared gape-mouthed at the phallus, belatedly seeing the black straps that attached it to Felicia's hips. "Felicia, you're a doll, but I'm not sure all that will fit!"

"Sure it will!" Felicia pulled a vial of lube from a pocket in her bra—Peter had wondered where loot she put down her cleavage went. Then she simply upended the vial over her strap-on, dousing it from base to head until it was dripping. "If you can take Peter, you can take this."

"I'd much rather take Peter, to be honest." Mary Jane looked over at Peter, her eyes beguiling as a siren's. "How about it, tiger? You gonna save me from her fitting all that dick inside me?"

"Well, uh, we could certainly—you know what, why don't we sleep on this, then get together for lunch, just to make sure no one's acting under the influence of a symbiote?"

Felicia tried to summon up laser beams to shoot from her eyes at Peter, failed, and turned to Mary Jane. "Up against the wall. Right next to him. I want him to have the best seat in town of the orgasm he could've given you."

Mary Jane obediently flattened her toned ass against the wall, drawing her top up to her belly button. From right next to her, all Peter could see was the side of her hips. And Felicia's open catsuit was still holding close enough together to hide the shockingly dark nipples Peter knew to cap her breasts. A tease. It was all a tease.

Felicia stood before Mary Jane, rubbing her lubricant into the strap-on like a man's frantic masturbation. The grin she directed at Peter showed the thought had occurred to her. Mary Jane was just staring at the mass jutting out from Felicia's crotch.

"I can't believe how big it is," she said breathlessly. "I can't even think about how it's going to stretch my cunt. Sure you won't save me from having that monster cock inside me, Peter? Be my superhero again?"

"I, uh, err..."

"He had his chance," Felicia said pitilessly. "Now it's my turn."

Mary Jane jerked her thigh up as Felicia approached, blocking from Peter's view what was happening between her open legs. And it was suddenly very important that Peter see what happen. As important as whatever it was that went with great power. But though he could grow six arms, but he had never had x-ray vision.

Though he couldn't make out the details, Mary Jane certainly seemed to enjoy what was quite obviously happening. She threw her head back against the wall. Already her breath was coming hard and fast. Peter could see that despite the preparation, it hurt; and he almost ripped himself free to help her. But pain immediately turned to pleasure, Mary Jane throwing her hips forward to gain more inches of Felicia's dildo.

The contact made, they embraced. Mary Jane's hands grasped Felicia's powerful hips and Felicia's arms, bound around MJ's back, obscured the meeting of their breasts. They were fucking right beside him and Peter could see almost none of it, everything forbidden lost between their united bodies.

With each surging thrust, he could only imagine Felicia's pale crop of pubic hair mingling with MJ's tuft of red fire. And he couldn't stop imagining: Felicia's heavy tits swinging forward, trying to engulf Mary Jane. The huge dildo entering Mary Jane as if to erase every trace of Peter's past visits. Their bellies writhing together with the motion they each sought to control.

What he could see was the fierce pleasure on Mary Jane's face; uninhibited, like she'd once been with him. And the even greater ecstasy written on Felicia's face and body: both the physical enjoyment of the base of the dildo grinding at her pussy, and the mental satisfaction she took in bringing Mary Jane all her delight.

Inevitably, Mary Jane's face turned upward, totally ignoring Peter to merely absorb the frenzied pleasure inside her. Her hands dug into Felicia's voluptuous ass, pulling her, and more importantly her cock, ever closer to her own needing body. "God, I love it. I love it! You said it would be good, Felicia, but I had no idea—no idea—no idea..." With an orgasmic wail, she overcame her stutter. "No idea it'd be this good!"

"Oh, are you coming?" Felicia said through her low-key gasping and panting, her competitive nature still present and accounted for.




Gwen Stacy Syndrome



MJ laughed madly. "Yes! And you are too, you crazy bitch!"

Felicia drank in the look of almost-religious ecstasy on Mary Jane's look until she'd had her fill and erased it with a passionate kiss to MJ's parted lips. "Hell yeah I'm coming! I'm... fucking... coming!"

Both faces turned upward, eyes closed, mouths open, they received the reward for their adventurousness. They screamed in harmony and it was more than Peter could bear. He jerked his hips like he could fuck the air, trying to get some relief for his desperately hard cock, rubbing it against the taut fabric over his groin. He was so ready that the tawdry stimulation almost worked, but it actually made his manhood too hard. With a loud rippp, it tore through the crotch of his costume, his cock straining proudly into the room.

And he had just fixed the tears the Lizard put in that stupid suit.

A shock of cold air pushed his orgasm down, leaving him with a rock-hard, purple-headed erection that didn't seem like it would go anywhere anytime soon. He wiggled and squirmed, but all he accomplished was to send dribbles of precum running down the underside of his shaft.

And all the while, Mary Jane and Felicia kissed tenderly, thanking each other for the pleasure they had shared. "So tell me, red, did you hit the jackpot?"

"I think we both hit the jackpot together."

Felicia laughed showily. "Fuck yes we did. But while you may be satisfied with a toy... I want the real thing!"

She reached for Peter's cock and Mary Jane slapped her hand away, just as Peter was arching his hips toward her. His penis throbbed, seeming like a wild animal attached to his loins, desperate to break free and be welcomed into one of these lovely, willing women.

Mary Jane pulled down her top. Felicia straightened her unzipped catsuit, letting only a thin sliver of skin appear between the open leather. They stood before him, even sexier with their hair mussed, their skin flushed, and their heat up.

"Like I said, hon." Mary Jane leaned on Felicia. "We wouldn't dream of touching you without your consent. But if it was alright by you—"

"We'd touch you," Felicia finished for MJ, a phenomenon that was becoming uncomfortably common. "We'd touch you a lot."

"Even if I wasn't sure about us?"

"Call it a trial run," Felicia said. "We fuck your brains out, and if you can say no to us after that—well, I don't know about Watson, but I'm becoming a fucking nun."

"Let me think about it," Peter replied, garnering an indignant gasp from Felicia and an amused smirk from Mary Jane. The redhead always had gotten his sense of humor. "Yes. You have my permission to touch me."

"Well, now that we have your permission..." Felicia reached out, with one white-gloved finger, and gave Peter's cockhead the tiniest prod. "Boop."

"Been wanting to do that?" MJ asked.

"Yeah. I don't know what it is; he has a huge penis, I just find it cute somehow. Call me racist, but if it were a black guy's..."

"You're a racist," Mary Jane interrupted. "So, shall we go another round without him, or have mercy on the big lug?"

"I vote mercy."

"So do I!" Peter added.

Felicia ignored him. "I feel like if he sees us Baywatch for one more second, he's gonna blow without us, and that would be a waste of all the perfectly good cum he has saved up." That struck Felicia as a good time to lovingly caress Mary Jane's cheek. "All for us! And while I am kinky enough to lick a little cum off the floor, a carpet is asking way too much."

"I was wondering why your apartment has tile everywhere."

"Ladies, please!" Peter called. "You're going to feel really silly if Galactus shows up to eat us and I have to fight the Silver Surfer with this thing hanging out."

"Probably solve your popularity problem, though," Felicia quipped.

Mary Jane sprang to his defense. "He's right. Let's be gracious in victory."

"You just want first dibs."

"I have first dibs. It was my idea. And as if you have something against sloppy seconds."

"Touché. Alright, red. Let me see you clean that cock for me."

"In a moment," Mary Jane said, her attention now entirely on Peter.

He was almost shocked by the intensity of her gaze. She looked at him like he was the only person in the world. Then she moved like a snake striking, her beauty filling his vision, his world become the blood-red lips that met his.

It felt better than normal, better than real. It was heaven. Her hands flowed over his chest, down to grip his tight ass, and the moment shifted from romantic to sexual with an answering throb in his groin. Her lips dragged away from his as she got on her knees, eye level with his cock.

"I do not remember this being that big," she admitted, running her eyes down its length. "Peter, you didn't turn into a giant spider and give birth to yourself again, did you? This is definitely bigger."

"Nope," Felicia called, resting her head lovingly on Peter's shoulder, like they were slow-dancing. "Ten inches. Same as ever."

"It's at least a half-inch bigger."

"Who do you think knows more about cock, me or you? I could perform a bris, that's how much I know about cock."

"Well, you said it, not me." Mary Jane watched, wide-eyed, as a bullet of precum emerged from Peter's slit and dripped to the floor. "Holy shit, I feel like I'm watching a foreign film."

"Suck it, ho!" Felicia called, giving Mary Jane a little kick.

"Not to be misogynistic, but..." Peter shivered, Felicia's gloved finger pressing into his costume to circle his left nipple. "Yes. Please. Ho."

Mary Jane put her hands on Peter's muscular thighs, massaging them, his cock shifting up a few degrees in response. "I'd hate to steal attention away from you, Party Hardy. Give our conquering hero a kiss. I wanna see what his penis does while he's slipping the tongue to a pussy."

"Mmm." Felicia popped her lips. "Tempting, but that's not what I want him to kiss."

With no more warning than that, she grabbed Peter by his short brown hair and pulled his head down, into the generous breast she lifted with her other hand. The rock-hard nipple topping it was shoved into Peter's open mouth, disappearing from sight as Peter struggled to fit as much of the marshmallow-soft flesh into his mouth as he could.

Felicia hummed a pleasured aria; Peter's stomach muscles tensed; his cock fluttered up until it was a monolith pointed at the sky. Mary Jane's eyes widened, her voice growing astonished in a way that even her acting talent couldn't fake.

"You made it bigger..." she breathed, her fingers now rubbing at the skin at the base of Peter's manhood, as if reluctant to approach it.

Peter looked down with Felicia's erect nipple almost down his throat. His face flushed. Still a good Queens boy at heart, he was actually somewhat embarrassed by the attention—but that just seemed to excite him more.

Felicia reached down, tracing her hand over Peter's spectacular length without actually touching it, instead tangling her fingers in Mary Jane's trademark red mane. She petted MJ's scalp with an air of reassurance. "We wanted this," she said simply.

"Yes," Mary Jane exhaled, bowing her head. She kissed the wiry hairs at the base of Peter's cock; just missing the erogenous zone, but sending a feeling of warmth pulsing up Peter's body. "I love you, Peter. Quite a bit. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't missed this too. No one else can satisfy me, physically or emotionally, the way you can. It took the biggest slut in New York just to try."

"Thanks," Felicia said sincerely, though she still plucked out one of MJ's hairs in punishment. She preferred to be called a slattern.

"Here's how much I love you, Peter Parker," MJ said as she kissed her way up his rod, long sucking kisses that sent him into paroxysms against Felicia's breast. Like a soothing mother, the Black Cat pulled him deeper into her cleavage, now letting him moan to his heart's content in-between her breasts.

Mary Jane took one last look at what might as well have been Peter's namesake before she went down on it. Come off it, it's not that big, she thought, comparing it to some table legs she had known. With a deep breath, she ovaled her mouth and hungrily dove at the mighty endowment before her. Even Felicia was taken aback at her success. On her first go, six inches sunk into Mary Jane's mouth before she even slowed down.

"I knew I liked her for a reason," she commented as Peter moaned desperately into the sound chamber of her tits.

Mary Jane soon slowed, though, the oversized member too much for her usual techniques. She pushed herself down on the cock until she gagged, enthusiastically sucking at the sizable portion pushing down her throat, but her surprise was too great. She pulled free, leaving a saliva-coated erection in her wake, and gasped for breath as Peter's cock once more shot upward, as if mocking her.

"Definitely bigger--!" MJ wheezed.

"Alright, enough of the amateur sex tape," Felicia taunted, pushing Peter's head back. He emerged from her cleavage with his hair a mess and his expression dazed. "Time for this to become an honest-to-God porno."

Peter once more pulled at his bonds, hoping to hell they'd weakened, as Felicia got down on her knees and engulfed him in her full lips. Mary Jane watched, rubbing at the tight fabric of her top, where her nipples bulged noticeably. "God, Peter... are you getting bigger?"

"Don't know," Peter said, dumbstruck by Felicia's attentions, just as pleasurable as Mary Jane's technique but somehow completely different. "Maybe?"

"No wonder you don't want to be in a relationship. That thing could kill someone!"

Felicia's mouth loudly popped off Peter's cock, the cat burglar wiping at the saliva and precum that had spilled down her chin. "Radioactive sperm. That's how I want to go out."

"It's not radioactive!" Peter protested weakly, out of breath just from having to endure Felicia's talents. "I've done tests."

"Tests?" Mary Jane asked.

He shrugged. "Superheroes get bored too."

"Who'd you jerk it to getting the sample, that's what I want to know," Felicia quipped.

"Emma Stone."

They both booed him, Mary Jane slapping his thigh and Felicia flicking his cockhead.

"Hey! Oww! C'mon, it's not like I can—'jerk it' to someone I know."

"You can jerk it to me anytime," Felicia said at the same time Mary Jane said "Why do you think I let you take nudie pictures of me?"

"Ladies, I love talking to both of you, you're wonderful conversations, really. But..." He whimpered as another dollop of precum ran from his cock like lava from a volcano. "As they say, something has come up?"

Mary Jane blew air on his cock. "This threeway relationship is working out already. Open and honest communication."

"I haven't agreed to anything."

"Just stay hard," Felicia said. "Best relationship advice I can give you. Hey, red, watch this."

Mary Jane froze in shock, watching as Felicia (with a smile) ran her cheek up Peter's cock. Her head lulled about like she was listening to music only she could hear, the motion moving his cock over her face until it came to her lips, where she licked him softly. Just like a cat grooming itself. She licked up the drops of precum dotting his phallus, tongued him from the base of his shaft to the tip, left his cock glistening with her slick saliva. Then, and only then, did she part her lips and drop her head down his massive tool.

Slowly, steadily encompassing it. Mary Jane was actually concerned for her as she moaned with each inch, like she was devouring rich chocolate, her throat practically bulging as she took him to the hilt. There she stopped, with a winking look at Mary Jane. Like she'd done it for her instead of him.

"Holy fuck," Mary Jane said softly. "I am actually proud of you."

"You're proud!" Peter cried, pulling at the webbing until the wall groaned.

"Mmph. MMF! MMM!" Felicia said.

"So proud," Mary Jane confirmed, leaning in to suck on her girlfriend's neck.

She slung her arms around Felicia and put all her love and affection into her kisses, slipping the catsuit off Felicia's shoulders so she could feel Felicia from the silken hair at the nape of her neck to the soft, soft skin at the small of her back. Felicia did the same, wrapping one arm around Mary Jane to nest comfortably between her taut buttocks and vining the other around one of Peter's legs as she continued to devote herself with fanatical zeal to the worship of quite possibly her favorite thing about Peter Benjamin Parker.

"Let me help, Cat. We're both on Team Spider now..."

And Felicia charitably retreated from Peter's groin, moaning even louder as it left her throat than she had upon its entrance. Mary Jane was reluctant to give up her efforts on Felicia—licking the shell of Felicia's ear, leaving hickeys on the alabaster skin of her throat—but this wasn't about the two of them. It was about all three.

And as Felicia gave up the many inches of Peter's tool, Mary Jane joined her in her work on Peter's cock, kissing, licking, and sucking the length Felicia abandoned, the two-pronged assault making Peter tense until his suit ripped along his bulging biceps and rock-hard abdominal muscles.

Mary Jane picked at Peter's spare costume, hanging off her statuesque torso. "I think Petey's gonna need this back pretty soon."

"He doesn't get it back till morning," Felicia replied, pulling free of Peter's erection only to lose herself in the equally tantalizing territory of MJ's mouth. Her own lips were wet and strong with taste from the blowjob, something Mary Jane eagerly accepted as they kissed, slippery, juicy, the two embracing under Peter's parted legs, the redhead's golden tan meeting the milky pallor of Felicia's body—the skin of a night owl, a party girl, a thief.

Peter actually breathed a sigh of relief, freed of the maddening pleasure they'd been torturing him with, but he quickly came to miss it when he saw how the two women were embracing, Mary Jane's well-proportioned breasts nearly lost in the great cushions of Felicia's cleavage. He'd met aliens, gods, and time travelers, but in all his life he'd never been more surprised than when women's kiss grew to encompass his cock, sandwiching it between red and black lips, each woman's tongue having to slide part it to enter the others' mouth. It was bliss.

For Mary Jane, she couldn't stop thinking of how much softer Felicia's mouth was than Peter's. Neither was better than the other, but it seemed so right that the passion and aggression Peter could show her were on the opposite end of the spectrum from how gentle and warm Felicia could be. And the amazingly fragrant taste of Peter that perfectly undercut their kiss, reminding her always that she had not one lover but two... was it any wonder that she wanted more, wanted to actually blow Peter as she kissed Felicia?

Felicia had the same thought, because neither of them stopped for an instant when his cock came between them. They couldn't even figure who had brought it into their orbit. Surely not Peter...

Then she felt the circulating air of the room's AC unit between her legs as her top was lifted out of the way, followed closely by two of Felicia's magnificently callused fingers. She followed suit without thinking, reaching past the tapering zipper of Felicia's catsuit and down to the tuft of silver hair she'd become so intimately familiar with. She felt electricity in her cunt, too warm to be painful in its intensity, and hoped Felicia was feeling the same. And the kiss was as strong and alive as ever. Alongside Felicia's heated lips, she felt the throb of Peter's flesh, like she was kissing the core of a nuclear power plant.

"Oh sweet Jesus..." Peter breathed. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't hold back anymore. He stiffened on the verge of orgasm...

And Felicia stopped cold, pulling herself and Mary Jane off him in a flash, even closing her hand around the base of his cock to lock down his impending climax. He groaned in sudden, abject misery.

"C'mon, Cat!" he whined. "I've kept you out of a prison a dozen times! Can't you let me have this? And MJ, MJ, how many supervillains have I saved you from!?"

"We are proper and genteel ladies!" Felicia cried, as if affronted. Mary Jane kept kissing Felicia's swan-like neck. "We certainly would never have sex outside of a relationship. Not with a man who wasn't our boyfriend..."

"Wha? Come on! I thought you guys were gonna let me think about it!"

Mary Jane pressed a last kiss to Felicia's collarbone before raising her head. "Think all you want. But we're not laying one finger on you until we're dating. Say, how long's it been, Felicia?"

Felicia checked her phone—one more goodie hidden in her bra. "Twenty minutes."

"And how long does Peter's handy-dandy webbing last?"

"Oh, an hour. Unless Doc Ock improved the chemical composition to last longer."

"So Peter can't even jerk off for another half hour?"

"Longer!"

"Mm. Poor guy. Lucky the two of us are officially dating, and can make out all we want while Peter 'thinks'."

"Alright!" Peter cried. "I give, I tap, you win. Sorry, Uncle Ben, I can resist millions of dollars in Mafia pay-outs, but this is too fucking much."

"Yay!" MJ cried.

Felicia looked up at him unironically. "Ask us out."

"Huh?"

"We're not dating you, you're dating us." Felicia's words softly crashed against his cock, making him stingingly hard as their saliva cooled on his purpling tip. "So you have to ask us out."

Peter fidgeted, closing his eyes and summoning all his reserves. "Uhhh... Mary Jane, would you like to go clubbing sometime?"

Mary Jane nodded pleasantly. "Yes, Peter, I would like that very much. Now ask Felicia."

"Felica... errghk!... dinner and a show!?"

Felicia tapped her chin. "Wellll..."

Mary Jane gave her a slight spanking. "Go easy on the poor guy, he's neurotic, not a war criminal."

"Alright, Peter, I will let you take me out. Assuming, of course, you'll be a gentleman and pick up the tab?"

"Yes! Of course!"

"Well then. Congratulations on your new boyfriend, Ms. Watson."

Mary Jane shook Felicia's offered hand. "And I hope you're very happy with your new boyfriend, Ms. Hardy."

Peter shook his head. "I got it the wrong way around. You're going to be the death of me."

Mary Jane and Felicia shared a smile. Fine by them. "Shall we, Mrs. Parker?"

"Let's, Mrs. Parker."

"Hold on, I certainly didn't commit to bigamy—"

They ignored him, a fact he was soon highly thankful for. Moving in perfect harmony for a couple that'd only gotten together a few hours ago, Felicia repeated her sword-swallowing act from before while Mary Jane lowered himself to his balls, sucking them into her mouth one at a time and letting them pop back out in a series of lavish gulps, smacking her lips almost as loud as Felicia was moaning—a licking, sucking, slurping orgy of sound.

Peter stared unblinkingly at the two women practically worshipping his cock. The sight alone was enough to have him wheezing like he needed an inhaler. His hands had curled into fists so tight that his fingernails drew blood from the heels of his hand, and he once more had to resist the urge to pull his trapped hands free of the wall, instead banging his fists against it with what little slack the slowly-dissolving webbing gave him.

With one last nibbling suck at his testicles, Mary Jane left him for her other lover, necking with Felicia as her hands once more explored her by now familiar body. Peter could already tell Mary Jane wouldn't be tiring of it anytime soon. "I can't wait until I'm sucking his cock... and tasting your cream on it," she whispered in Felicia's ear, just loud enough for Peter to overhear. "I wonder if it'll be better than kissing you and tasting all the cum he's shot down your throat."




Gwen Stacy Syndrome



She licked the side of Felicia's face as the cat burglar bobbed her head ever faster on Peter's cock. It was too much. All too much. Peter closed his eyes, trying to block out the erotic sight so he could last just a few more seconds, but he could still hear Mary Jane's sultry voice coming his way. "Fuck her mouth, tiger."

Then once more she lowered herself to his testicles, this time taking both between her lips. The gamer in her laughed, thinking back to the gaming session that had started all this—back then, she might've resented being teabagged.

And there, Peter lost all control. His hips rolled like the sea in a hurricane, shoving himself into Felicia's loving mouth. Mary Jane cupped Felicia's skull in her hand to hold her head still for Peter to fuck, unthinkingly holding her as Peter would if his hands were free. Equally automatically, their hands roved up Peter's body, Felicia digging her nails into his chest as Mary Jane sensually rubbed her free hand between Felicia's.

No one could've expected Peter to last any longer. "I can't hold it!" he cried, as if that wasn't exactly what they wanted.

"Mmph mmf mmm mmp!" Mary Jane said.

"What?"

Reluctantly, Mary Jane slurped her way off his testicles. "Don't! Cover us in cum! You're the only who gets to, from now on!" And she dove back down to feel his balls pulse as they emptied, shooting what felt like galloons of cum into Felicia's wanting mouth. With a superhuman effort, he forced his eyes open against the intensity of his orgasm to take in the heavenly sight before him. Felicia swallowed almost everything he gave her, though rivulets of his seed spilled out the side of her mouth. But even she couldn't take all of it, and Felicia pulled back to let Mary Jane have her share, the redhead prostrating herself before Peter, mouth open and chest outthrust.

Felicia watched with pride as Peter came all over MJ's face, covering it in ropes of cum, and as his erection flagged, painting white the red and blue fabric that snugly covered her ample chest. Even then, a small puddle of his ejaculate dribbled from his exhausted cock, landing unnoticed on the floor. Both women had already had more than enough.

"The only one who gets to," Mary Jane repeated, staring up at Peter with loving satisfaction, just as Felicia was.

After a huge swallow, Felicia said "Unless we meet Benedict Cumberbatch."

"Yes, unless that."

Peter shook his head as his cock shriveled to something like normal size; though if either woman had touched it, they would've found it still as stiff as mahogany. "What is it with that guy?"

"How much time do you have?" MJ asked.

"Lots," Felicia answered for him. "He clearly doesn't spend enough time masturbating."

"Sorry if I like beating crime more than beating my—" He instinctively tried to gesture, but found his hands still restrained. "Hey, can you cut me loose already? If I'm your co-boyfriend now or whatever?"

"I don't know," Mary Jane said. "I have always believed in keeping my bfs on a tight leash. Plus, aren't those webs as strong as steel?"

"About as strong as steel, yeah," Felicia agreed. "Besides, you're all tuckered out now, so what would be the point?"

"Can I at least get a chair?"

"We will give you a chair."

Felicia picked up the discarded webshooter, shot a line to a chair across the room, and dragged it over to them while Mary Jane wiped at her face. "This must be what a salad feels like after it gets the ranch dressing."

Felicia knocked over a lamp. "Oops." She pulled the chair into her hands and set it below Peter. "There ya go."

He collapsed gratefully. "Thanks."

"Now then," like she was snitching frosting from a cake, Felicia ran her finger over Mary Jane's cheek and popped it into her mouth, "since Peter is out of commission, how about the two of us pick up where we left off? But not on the floor—my back has enough problems with these double-Ds."

Mary Jane patted Peter's leg, expression sanguine as Felicia licked her cheek. "Hey Peter, mind if we use your bed?"

"Yeah. Sure." He glanced at the flecks of white on Mary Jane's chest as she stood. "Hey, put that in the wash first, will ya? People will talk if I show up to that fight with Galactus looking like I really, really needed an acting gig."

Felicia gave him a playful little kick. "Pig. Don't you know I handle all that for good ol' MJ?" She bent to lick at Mary Jane's breast, cleaning the costume of Peter's semen, just as he'd requested.

"Mmmm. Bed's in the other room."

"Couch is right here. Peter, mind if we use your couch?"

"Be my guest," Peter said distantly.

Felicia shucked off her costume, leaving her in just her boots, her gloves, and the strap-on that Peter had recently dwarfed. "Thanks, Spider. And try to pay attention. This is how MJ likes being fucked."

Peter looked on as the two tumbled onto his couch. Every so often the ladies cast looks his way as they kissed and felt each other.

He wondered if his landlord would mind two—tiny—holes in the wall...