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The Gwen Stacy Syndrome	By : Ksennin Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Spiderman Views: 39313 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man, nor the characters in the franchise. I make no money from publishing this story.

Chapter List
- 9
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- 11
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, ��! 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.
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?”
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The Gwen Stacy Syndrome