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The Invisible Handjob	By : Ksennin Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Spiderman Views: 52206 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I own neither Ultimate Spider-Man nor any of the franchise's characters. I make no money from publishing this.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Betaed by Gnome_man
Peter wasn’t much for social media. He wasn’t high-minded about it. It was just that, while having homework or the flu was easy enough to explain—how were you supposed to fit switching bodies with Wolverine into a status update? And then waking up from his drunken haze to find you were in bed with the two deadliest assassins in New York? He could barely believe he’d gotten out of that one alive.
He basically had two traumas for the price of one. Not only had Logan done things in his body that neither of them could remember well (judging from the one IM he’d gotten from Logan. AOL Instant Messenger. How old was the guy?), but Peter’d banged two women in Logan’s body. He really hoped it was a long time before Gah Lak Tus or whatever invaded Earth again, because he didn’t think he could ever face Jean again, no matter what body he was in.
And Ali, geez. What if he’d gotten her pregnant? What if he’d accidentally lost a piece of himself while he was Logan and just that little scrap regenerated into another Wolverine? Maybe Logan was in the habit of dealing with things like that when he was in his own body. Maybe when someone cut off a finger, he ate it so that didn’t happen.
And now Peter had grossed himself out.
He wondered if a Logan who’d been regenerated from a finger had the original Logan’s memories or if he’d be just—a finger person. Maybe that was what had happened to Logan originally. There was some perfectly ordinary Logan out there who’d just, like, gotten a door slammed on his pinky, and that pinky was now leading the X-Men and killing Sentinels while his dad was reading the newspaper.
What had Peter been doing again?
Yes. Checking his e-mail. Getting a friend request from Mary Jane on something called Traskchat.
That did it. No more thinking, no more trying to download Games of Thrones, no more homework. He was doing some web-swinging. That’d clear his head. And it’d prevent people from seeing the buzz-cut he’d been stuck with ever since Logan had vacation-homed in his head. It wasn’t bad, now that it’d grown out a little, but everyone said it was a big improvement on his old hair. Being shaved bald was an improvement on having bangs. Mary Jane had a lot of nerve telling him that. Ever since she’d started going out with Gwen, her new haircut made her look like Justin Bieber. Well, in a wig. A hot Justin Bieber.
He really needed a web-swing.
***
Lately, Peter had really taken to loving being a superhero. Maybe it was just that he’d started getting laid pretty regularly, as insane as that could be at times—though he guessed sex was like that for everyone. But somehow, without his virginity he felt the adrenaline rush of putting on the costume more acutely. He felt stronger, faster, shrugged off hits easier than he had before. He enjoyed himself. It felt like he’d gotten a power-up in a videogame.
So when he heard the explosion, he was actually looking forward to kicking some supervillain butt.
The blast came from deep in Midtown. Peter swung in, warmed-up, muscles screaming for a fight. He saw a cab flying through the air and thought, hey, I’m just an outfielder, reaching for a flyball. Caught it with his feet, shot out some weblines, let their elasticity bleed out the momentum, and the car was now safe and sound. Just dangling ten feet off the ground and a little on fire.
He helpfully opened the door so the guys inside could slip out. “I’ll keep the meter running!” he called to them as he put out the fire with a quick spray of webbing.
Even had a good quip handy. Didn’t have to fall back on Yiddish.
Peter looked around, fingers bent into web-shooting position, and found two people in spandex. He guessed they were the culprits. You didn’t get too many Jehovah’s Witnesses in spandex. And everyone else was either screaming, running, or taking pictures with their camera-phones.
At first glance, they could’ve been sisters. Both had long black hair, domino masks, and white capes. A closer look—which Peter didn’t at all mind giving them—revealed the taller one to be in a sort of sleeved cloak over a bodysuit, while the shorter one wore a cape with her tight, revealing crop-top and short-shorts. Sisters, he guessed. Each with the same curves in the same wonderful places. They could’ve been twins, except that the shorty was a bit slimmer, with her face a little fuller.
“Stay close, Lana!” the taller one said, shifting her canvas bag of money on her shoulder. No dollar sign on the side, though. Why did banks stop doing that? It made robberies so much more fun for everyone.
“I know, mo-ther!” the shorter one replied, her insolent voice instantly pegging her as a teenager. Peter did a double-take. If Mommy hadn’t been in contact with an adoption agency, she’d taken hella good care of herself. Lana was about his own age, so she would have to be in her thirties, but she had the figure of her daughter.
And it couldn’t be an adoption. Lana looked just like Mommy, just in slight miniature. Her pert face had the same loose frame of dark hair, the same color in her blazing eyes, the same upthrust nose and thin lips. Her father must’ve given her skin its slight pallor, but otherwise the resemblance was too striking not to be biological. She even had her mother’s breasts, barely covered by her scant top; they weren’t quite as developed, but they looked to have been carved by the same master sculptor. God, Peter would’ve loved to have his left hand in one set and his right in the other. It’d be—
Wildly inappropriate and not something to think about in the middle of battle and especially not when you were wearing skintight spandex. So he opened his mouth and said “Let me guess. You’ve turned to a life of crime because you lack a strong male figure in your family. Just so you know, I can bench-press a garage while still possessing the emotional sensitivity of Zach Braff.”
“Hey, look!” Lana called. “It’s that fag from the zoo!”
Peter dropped down from the cab. “First off, your language is hurtful and offensive. Second, I’m not gay, I was just experimenting. With a different costume, I mean. A straight costume. Both my costumes are straight!”
“Lana,” Mommy clamored, “tell the man who we are!”
“Why do I have to—“
“You said you wanted to—“
“I thought we’d be fighting the Ultimates, or the Fantastic Four, someone cool!”
“I’m very cool!” Peter protested. “I have a ton of Yu-Gi-Oh cards.”
“Just say it so we can fight,” Lana’s mother demanded.
“Alright already!” Lana thundered. “Hey, Spider-bitch, we’re the Bangers and we are gonna fuck your cunt up so bad you won’t be able to shit without a tube up your asshole!”
“Yeesh. I’ve never seen someone run through the seven dirty words in one sentence. Think I’ll have to web in that dirty mouth.” Peter paused and held up his webshooter. “I mean, like, with my webbing, not with—that wasn’t an euphemism—unless, I don’t know, you feel a sorta connection…”
Hands glowed. Big explosion. Peter slammed into the wall across the street, but it felt good, like he was a kid again, made of rubber, and he’d taken a brisk tumble running round the playground. He rebounded to his feet to find Lana and her Mom pointing two glowy fists at him.
“Here’s another one, prick-dick!” Lana shouted as pure explosive energy coursed from their glowing hands.
Peter dodged. Of course.
“Bombshells! I just got that!” Leaping over their offense, he landed between them. Kicked Lana back while tackling Mommy against a storefront, pinning her wrists to the wall. He felt alive, on fire, drunk on testosterone like the first time he’d seen Predator.
“So, hey, didn’t catch your name.”
She was stunned by his nearness, the sudden dip in his voice. “L-Lori,” she said softly.
“Lori. Hi. Why don’t we get the kid a babysitter, go see if we can find a restaurant whose dress code includes onesies—I’ve always had a bit of a thing for older women—“
“Older women!” She shrieked, her hands glowing.
Apparently, she could still blast him while he was holding her hands. That would make dating interesting. He was blown back, crashing into the car he’d strung up above the street, and did not feel like a young boy made out of rubber on a playground.
“Let’s go, Lana!” Lori cried, running to her daughter.
The girl got up, shaking her head. “We can take this ho!”
“We’re going, now! This isn’t part of the plan!”
“Plan?” Peter asked, prying himself out of the cab. “You knocked over a cash-for-gold store in matchy-match outfits. Who would call that a plan other than the writers on the last Star Trek movie?”
“Airborne!” Lori ordered, and doing the glowy-fist thing downward, they rocketed up to take to the rooftops.
Peter followed them, of course. According to every Batman comic he’d read, if he didn’t stop them now, they’d be back with an evil scheme on Mother’s Day.
Up on a parapet, he snagged the two fliers with weblines, bringing them both down on top of each other. “That’s it, hug it out. Get it all out. I’ve watched Gilmore Girls, I know of what I speak.”
“What is wrong with you?” Lori demanded, ripping the webbing off her daughter’s body. Apparently, glowy hands were good for that.
“I broke up with my girlfriend and she became a lesbian. I think I’m handling it really well, though.”
Lana roared. “I am going to shove my fist so far up your ass—“
“Whoa, hot stuff, ix-nay on the isting-fay in front of your moms. Why don’t you give back the big bag of money, then we can discuss this privately? I’ll put on a little music, slip into my comfortable spandex…”
“Stop hitting on her!” Lori demanded.
“Don’t tell him what to do!” Lana screamed back.
“Oh, isn’t that just like you, the moment someone with testes so much as looks at you—“ Lori glanced at Peter. “I assume you have testes.”
“I think you can see ‘em, actually. This costume doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Ladies.”
“You just had us rob someone and now you’re telling me who I can date?” Lana asked. “Total bullshit, mom!”
“Watch your language!”
“Fine! Why don’t you go fight Spider-Man without me?”
“We shouldn’t be fighting Spider-Man in the first place! I wanted to leave!”
“I wanted to go to the Screaming Bells concert!”
“It’s on a school night!”
“Like I need school when I can rob banks!”
“We rob banks to pay for your college!”
“And your vodka!”
“I’m a social drinker! I only drink with company!”
“That’s real easy when you bring home a new man every night!”
“At least I only bring home men!”
“Felicia and I are just friends!”
“I just meant that stray dog you brought home, whose vet this job is paying for by the way, but now that you mention it, is Felicia the one who gave you that slutty outfit?”
“I THINK IT LOOKS NICE!”
“WE’RE SUPPOSED TO MATCH!”
“IT’S THE SAME COLOR SCHEME, MINE JUST ISN’T TOTALLY LAME!”
“I KNEW I NEVER SHOULD’VE LET YOU GO ON THIS JOB DRESSED LIKE SOME RAP VIDEO… HOOTCHIE! YOU DON’T HAVE ANY DISCIPLINE! I SHOULD’VE SENT YOU TO MILITARY SCHOOL!”
“I WISH YOU HAD! AT LEAST THERE’D BE SOME MEN THERE YOU HAVEN’T SLEPT WITH!”
“YOU WANT A MAN? THERE’S THE WEBHEAD OVER THERE, WHY DON’T YOU GO SUCK HIS DICK IF YOU WANT TO BE SUCH A SLUT!”
“MAYBE I WILL!”
“GOOD!”
“GREAT!”
“FINE!”
“I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!”
It was then they saw that Peter had snagged their loot with a webline and slowly pulled it over to himself. It wasn’t like he’d been pressed for time.
“So,” Peter said congenially, “I’m going to take this back to the nice robbery victim. I think the cops are juuuust about here by now, so if you want to stop running, it’ll probably look good. Unlike, ya know, your outfits.”
“MOTHERFUCKER!” Lana screamed.
“Well, ya know, only if she’s interested.” Peter gave Lori a look and made a call-me gesture.
That was when the lights went out.
It happened in a wave. Not exactly a black-out. Each second a swath of buildings went dark and so did the cars on the street, the smartphones on the sidewalk, everything. In the blink of an eye, darkness had carpeted the entire city.
Electromagnetic pulse, Peter thought. Only no nuke. How did you have an EMP with no nuke? And who’d hit them? He knew some things flew under SHIELD’s radar, but who could possibly…
Then he heard it. Or, didn’t hear it. And he remembered. The Helicarrier. The far-off background drone of the SHIELD Helicarrier’s huge engines was gone. It’d taken some getting used to; now it was gone.
It’d been parked over the Bay. Thank God for small favors. But there were maybe a thousand people onboard and each of them were along for the ride as the Helicarrier’s lift turbines spun down. The aft went first, some fuel intake malfunction triggering an explosion that took out both rear turbines. Whatever safety measures were designed to give the Helicarrier a gentle landing, they failed. The aircraft tipped backwards, plunging toward the Bay like a dagger.
Then Peter saw a speck of red. Thor’s cape. The God of Thunder hit the aft of the ship, actually arresting its descent for a second before it ground him down under its weight and momentum. A few seconds later, the ship hit the water, kicking up an arterial spray of white foam.
“Shit,” Peter said, fresh off of mentally chastising Lana for her language. “I’ve gotta—I should…”
“You’re not going anywhere!” Lana cried, her hands lighting up, but Lori restrained her.
“I’m sorry,” Lori said simply, though she couldn’t hide all of her glee over getting away. Peter guessed that as a mutate or whatever, she didn’t have much love for SHIELD.
“I have to do something. Anything.” He looked at them, then at the bag of cash in his hands. He tossed it on the ground. “Help me.”
“What?”
Peter’s train of thought had shifted tracks, but now it was barreling full speed ahead. “I can take that bag with me. Drop it off at the first police station I see. Cover it in webbing so thick no one’ll get to it until the next full moon. Or you can help me. And I’ll give it to you and let you go on your merry way. Cross my heart. Hope to die.”
“Mo-ther!” Lana shouted, a complaint all on its own.
“You swear?” Lori insisted.
“It’s just money.”
***
Carol Danvers was going to die. She’d known it was coming, expected it, prepared for it. You didn’t sign on for SHIELD taking retirement for granted. But she really hadn’t expected to die on a Tuesday evening when the biggest assignment in the offing was the cafeteria’s bean casserole.
The ship was flooded. Before the network had fried, manual override had been used to lock it down. Bulkheads were sealed, corridors were cut off. So they were almost buoyant, the air trapped as it was. Those who were able had time to get to whatever evacuation craft they could find.
Carol was not able. She was trapped in the Deck 5 East Supply Room, having already awoken from bashing her head against the wall in the crash. She could still see her blood on the bulkhead. From the water welling up and dripping in from leaks at all points of the compass, she knew she was submerged. And in the sinking, she and most of the room’s shelves had relocated to the bottom right-hand corner of the room. She was not on top of the shelves.
She was going to drown.
What a strange thought.
“Hey, anyone in there!?”
What a strange question.
No, that was the concussion talking. Making her groggy. Carol Danvers was not going to die because she was groggy. “In here! I’m in here!”
The voice got closer, louder. It was coming from the vent on the ceiling (or was that the floor?). “I hear you! Okay, how many are in there?”
“Just me! Captain Carol Danvers, identification number oh-eight-eight-two—“
“Yeah, that’s nice, I didn’t ask if you were a Chitauri. Hold on a sec, gonna have to get a little creative—“ The air vent, which had automatically sealed like the rest of the ship (like a tomb) cracked open a degree. A rebreather capsule the size and shape of a lipstick case dropped down. “Can you get to that?”
“No. I’m a little buried in debris.”
“Okay, this is gonna be tricky… I’m gonna be right back, okay Carol? I’m not leaving you, I’m coming right back.”
“It’s Captain Danvers,” Carol replied, but he was already gone.
A moment later, she heard “Carol, brace yourself!” and an explosion shook the room. The hatch bent inward. Carol braced herself even further and the room shook even harder, a smell of charcoal filling the air from God knew where. The hatch sprang as far as its damaged hinges could go, opening up enough to let a hundred gallons of water in. Spider-Man, of all people, contorted his way in like a boneless limbo dancer. He plucked up the rebreather capsule and ran it over to Carol.
“Don’t worry, Carol, I’m going to get you out of here. It’s just gonna take me a second.”
The shelves were laden with heavy SHIELD armament: sabot rounds, laser cells, warheads, all meant for air-to-ground or ship-to-ship combat. The stuff you had to be a Level 4 ‘Strongman’ to even operate. None of it had landed on her—small favors—but it pressed in on her enough to hold her paralysis-still. Peter moved it tons at a time, even as the deluge rushed in. He set it aside in great rushes that dented the floor, detonated huge explosions of sea foam. Until she was uncovered.
He checked her over for injuries—a little thoroughly for her liking—and splinted her broken leg with some quick webbing. Then he picked her up, encouraging her to wrap her arms around his neck.
“Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”
***
Westchester was far enough from the city to be totally unaware of the EMP. In the drawing room, among the rich furnishings, sedate decoration, and modestly pleasant paintings, a girl sat in barely more than a bra and stretch jeans, her streak of freshly pink hair catching the fading sunlight almost as much as her numerous piercings.
Alison sat at her laptop, wishing they had better wi-fi. Next stage of human evolution and they couldn’t get wi-fi worth a damn. What kind of bullshit was that?
“Ms. Blaire, this is important,” the Professor was saying. “I realize the events of the past few days have been extremely disconcerting. Many of the students are having trouble coming to terms with it. There’s nothing shameful in admitting to your emotions.”
“Uhh, is this cuz I was hunted for sport or because I fucked Wolverine? Because everyone was hunted for sport, but only I fucked Wolverine, and I don’t see you pestering them. Oh, Jean did too I guess. Does that count as a threesome? It was like within the same hour, so…”
“Your sexual encounter is a very unprecedented trauma—“
“Trauma? Dude, I got laid doing a solid for a teammate. Who gives a fuck? What, you think I’m some good little girl who should be crying about my virtue or some shit? Fuck that. I rode it and I loved riding it. Only reason I won’t be going for seconds is that Logan’s too much of a pussy to go for it. Guy comes on all big and bad, but he’s a pussycat on the inside. Not punk rock, like me.”
Xavier straightened his tie. “As, ahem, enlightening as your vantage point is, I would strongly suggest you seek counseling for whatever other feelings might occur to you—“
“Dude, what is up with the internet here? I’m trying to torrent Jean and Logan’s naked time and it’s just not happening!”
He scowled. “Before he left us, Hank developed a program—a virus of sorts—that could erase unseemly data from the internet so long as it was still in the offing. My colleague Emma Frost was good enough to use that on the Krakoa Island broadcast soon after it was made. There will be no repeat performance of the day’s events.”
“Eh. Shit. Maybe we’d have more supporters if people knew how well mutants could fuck.”
Xavier gripped the wheels of his chair firmly. “Yes, well—I’ll leave you to your—thoughts. Yes.”
He was just moving to leave when the lights flickered. Prolonged flickering. Something wrong with the power grid. He concentrated, delving into the thoughts from ConEd. An EMP blast in the middle of New York. Looting in the streets. The SHIELD Helicarrier was down.
Magneto.
“Ms. Blaire, I suggest you suit up. The X-Men are needed.”
“Nah, X, I’m good like this.”
***
Nick Fury was talking to him.
“It’s been twenty hours, Peter. You’ve been out of webbing for the last ten. That is enough. Go home, get some sleep—hell, don’t go home, I’ll lockdown a tent for you, just sit down for five minutes. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”
Peter looked around the harbor. Out of the chaos of the tsunami that the crash had kicked up, now there were Quinjets and medical tents, ambulances, police cars—a small army marshalled on the banks of New York Bay, ferrying the survivors away from the crashed Helicarrier.
He couldn’t let them down. “One more. Send me back one more time, I’ll…”
“No. You won’t. I’m giving you an order here. Sit down. Drink some water. Keep breathing.”
Peter shook his head. Suddenly, it seemed very hard. Very tiring. “I don’t take orders from you.”
Fury guffawed. “Yeah, right. Hey, you, Spider-Girl or whatever the hell your name is—“
Lana looked up from the sandwich she was grabbing on a table of refreshments. “I’m not his fucking sidekick, okay, I’m a goddamn supervillain!”
“Okay, alright, whatever. Take your boy here over to that prefab,” he pointed, “and shove him until he falls into a bed. Shouldn’t take that much.” His one eye arched at Peter. “Black Cat, Elektra, Sable… got a thing for bad girls, dontcha?”
“As soon as you stop being so damn blurry, I’m gonna slap you.”
Lana came over, sandwich still in hand, to take Spider-Man by the shoulders. “Come on, Captain America.”
“’s Spider-Man.”
“I took a nap in the aid tent, came back to work, and you were still working. Fuck you, you can call yourself Captain America if you want.”
***
The prefab was really a mobile officer’s quarters, the size and shape of an freight container, with a cot, desk, folding chairs, wall locker, some food and drink… not much else. All it really had to offer was privacy. With the door locked behind him, Peter didn’t have to worry about someone unmasking him in his sleep.
The further he got from the water, the more his stamina ebbed. His adrenaline high ended, leaving him with what felt like days of sleeplessness taking their toll. By the end, Lana was carrying him to the bed at the end of the room, their footsteps echoing off the metal walls at a slow, stately beat.
Finally, she sat him down and he sagged over the mattress, against the wall, sprawled out like he was barely breathing. He looked so vulnerable. Lana didn’t know what to make of him.
“That was the first time I’ve ever done anything… superhero-y. Was that superhero-y?” she wondered. “Fuck yeah, it was. That was more superhero-y than anything those Fantastic Four pricks have ever done. Fuck those guys. What’ve they done for anything?”
“That was pretty good,” Spider-Man said, startling her. She thought he’d fallen asleep. No, he was just motionless. “You could have a future in this business. If, ya know, you stop robbing people.”
“Eh.”
“How d’yerr powers work, anyway? Are you a mutant or something?”
“Do I look like an X-Man? Nah, it’s my mom. My powers only work if we’re right next to each other.”
“What about her?”
“She doesn’t need me. I mean, have you listened to her for five minutes?”
“Your power only works with your mother. That’s interesting.”
“Yeah? You live with her.”
“And you rob people? With that power?”
“What, we should beat up muggers instead? I’m guessing you don’t drive a Corvette.”
“It’s New York,” Spider-Man yawned explosively. “Who drives?”
“I wanna. I wanna go to LA and… forget it. You probably want to sleep.”
But when she got up to leave, Lana saw something in motion on Peter’s unmoving body.
***
The symbiote had bid its time. It had sampled Peter’s memories and knew he could not be controlled, only ridden. By working in concert with him, increasing his strength and speed and the stamina, Peter worked harder to produce more of the endorphins the symbiote fed upon. It had fed well on him as he went again and again into the Helicarrier, rescuing the weak and injured.
How the symbiote would’ve loved to devour just one, but no, no. Then the Parker-host would reject it. It could not openly feed. Only share in the natural equilibrium between them. And that would be more than enough for it, except that the lifecycle had come full cycle. It was time now for the symbiote to begin mitosis. All that was needed now was the necessary nutrients to be harvested, and ever did the symbiote long to devour the girl-human bones and all, adding her strength to their symbiosis. But there was another way to feed upon her. Another way to cull some nutrients from her lovely young biology.
The Parker-host was unconscious. And as strong-willed as he was, the symbiote had some control. It increased the blood flow to his genitals as it drizzled its pheromones through his pores. The female had already proven to be highly receptive to the Parker-host, her arousal easily visible to the symbiote’s many senses. All that remained was to bait the prey.
***
The crotch of Spider-Man’s costume was pressing outward. A long way outward. Lana’s eyes were drawn to it. She couldn’t look away from the massive bulge virtually pounding against the confines of his tight-fitting costume. Lana felt like she did when she was taking power from Lori. Spider-Man was giving her energy, fire, life, making her feel like she could just explode!
Lana looked up to see his mask was as blank as ever, without the semblance of animation that his personality infused it with. His thoughts were clearly worlds away. She looked back to the tightly stretched material at his groin and found it throbbing hard enough, lewdly enough, for her to notice. It was then Lana realized that her panties were wet.
Standing in place, she crossed her legs, squeezing her labia before it could grow any more sensitive. This did nothing to quell the throbbing inside her. She thought she could feel his eyes on her breasts now, in her strained crop top, the nipples drawing the eye. Spider-Man was staring at her tits and it turned her on. Maybe he had fantasies about her. Maybe he pumped his cock, thinking about her body and her cunt. He probably came like a fire hydrant, just thinking about fucking her.
Lana tucked her hands behind her back, thrusting her chest out as she walked slowly back to the Spider. “Oh. I get it. All that violence, now you want a little fuck to go with it. And here I’ve given you a great big stiffie so you can’t get to sleep, even though you saved all those nice people. Shit, that was inconsiderate of me. Guess I’d better do something about that before my mom throws herself cunt-first on that hard-on of yours. Let’s just get you comfortable. Can’t be too comfortable, getting a hard-on in a full-body condom…”
She put one hand on his hip, one on his thigh, the muscles there as hard as steel and as warm as fresh bread. Bent over him so his bulging cock was only inches from her face. She trembled, excitement flooding into her, her cunt shooting off sparks. Lana moved her hand off his hip. She felt the texture of his suit, the raised webbing, the heat of his body underneath. Until her hand was pressed against the big hunk of meat below his waist. Gently squeezing. Finding out it really was as big, as perfect as it had looked. She rubbed at it like it was a lamp she wanted a genie out of. He took a sharp inhale of breath.
“Like that, huh?” she asked his stoic mask. “Want me to make you jizz in your pants? Least the whole city wouldn’t see your horse-dick running down your leg. Bet you have some no-stick water-resistant rubberized motherfucker bullshit that makes it wash right out. Yeah. Wrestling around with Black Cat all the time. Neurotic fuck. Bet you come in your pants like some strip-club loser, then you web her up. Motherfucker. I’m not gonna give you a lapdance, bitch! I wanna see your cock! Show me your cock! You fucking bitch, show me that big dick!”
Trembling hands suddenly sure, she yanked his pants down around his knees. He was wearing briefs, but those went with the trousers. The sunlight through the small windows near the ceiling made his pale skin incandescent, his cock into a pillar of light. Freed, it stood up firm and hard. Lana stared at them, twitching, throbbing, ready to fuck. Her cunt pulsed pleasurably like he’d already been inside her.
“There. You’ve shown me your dick, you bastard, just like you wanted. Motherfucker. Pervert! It’s not even that big a dick! It’s not even—“ Lana gulped. “Think that strong, silent act is gonna get me to touch it? You think just cuz you have a big prick, I’m gonna shove it down my throat like something out of a porno? I oughta leave you like this. All worked up with the thought of fucking me. Did you really think I’d blow you? Or that you could put it in me? I bet you even thought I’d take it in the ass for you, you fucking cunt. I should just leave you to jack off like the fascist bitch motherfucker you are—“
Lana stroked Spider-Man’s thighs lightly, savoring the feel they had without the costume material in the way. His skin was so smooth, flawless, like marble except for the tiny hairs that thrilled and tickled her fingers.
“You’re a fucking pig, you know that? You should know I’m not my mom. I don’t put out just because you have a prick a few inches bigger than that security guard who keeps catching my mom in the act. But you did save all those people… and you let me and mommy get away… and you’re letting us keep our loot…”
A wide grin split Lana’s face. She prodded his balls and ran a fingertip up his cock. He remained silent—or speechless. Even as she wrapped her fingers around his prick and squeezed it, ever so delicately. Even as she was amazed by the hardness of his cock, the heat that poured out of it, the velvety feel of the precum rolling off its tip. Because despite everything, his cock was almost soft. He was only half-hard, still.
“I get it! You’re some sort of fundie freak-job like Captain America! You’re into weird shit like this, aren’t you? Showing me your big fucking dick and then not letting me do shit about it cuz I’m some ‘fallen woman’.” Sneering, Lana licked the light coating of seed from her palm. It tasted good. The bastard’s cum tasted so damn good. “Well, guess what, you motherfucking hypocrite! You showed it to me, so now I get to do whatever I like with it! If I want to suck your fucking cock—“
And with no further justification, she stuffed his cock deep inside her mouth. Almost gagged with her own lustful speed. He was as thick as a golf ball and when his cock woke up in her mouth, it grew even more. Seven inches, eight inches, maybe eight and a half deep in the hollow of her throat. Peter tensed and instinctively spread his legs, allowing Lana to shuffle forward nearly into his lap. She knelt between his knees and slipped a hand between her own thighs, inside her cut-offs. Her pussy was warm and wet; she rubbed it like a sweet pet. Worked a finger inside and nearly came from that, moaning into her phallic gag. But no. She wouldn’t give this perverted freak the satisfaction.
Pulling her hand away, she reached up and rubbed its moisture into his mask. Let him smell her. Let him taste her. He’d never get her pussy, Lana thought triumphantly as she craned her neck and slid the head of his cock—nearly the size of a plum—down into her constricting throat, where she had to swallow to keep herself from choking on it.
***
Peter was having a very nice dream. He was in a cool, dark lake, floating peacefully, while a waterfall that was just so warm came down on the water over his penis, stirring it up, turning it to hot sea foam that bathed and caressed his member with a million tiny bubbles.
Mary Jane was there, and so was Gwen, and Sue and Cat and Ali and Jean and even that blonde SHIELD agent he had rescued, the captain with those amazing breasts—firm, richly curved breasts that jutted proudly from her like snowy hilltops, perfect half-globes that girls dreamed of getting and women wished they had. And outside of the stuffy but still enthralling SHIELD jumpsuit, in a bikini that (like those of the other girls) put a sexual pressure on her body by virtue of being ever so slightly too tight, he could see the svelte pink nipples that he just knew were sensitive, oh so very sensitive, artistic little dewdrops just waiting to freeze into tiny icicles at the smallest stimulation.
They splashed and played, laughing, happy, safe, while he relaxed and let the waves carry him and the wonderful waterfall bathe him. It was a perfect night, even without any stars, just the black, black sky and the cloud overhead that seemed to form a spider, a great white spider in the dark watching over him…
***
Spider-Man moaned loudly, but the heavy noise wasn’t enough to wake him from his sleep. Smiling to herself, Lana swirled her tongue and circled her lips in tune to the throbbing of his shaft. He was getting hotter and hotter inside her mouth, like she was starting a fire with the friction from bobbing up and down on his cock.
Lana loved the new hardness his cock had in his mouth. It was so alive, but the head of his prick was so smooth, slick, swelling against her tongue and tantalizing her with sweet teases of cum. She reached down to his balls and prickled her hands on their coarse hair. The same scant hair now scratched at her nose and chin as she came down to the very base of his cock, where he throbbed hard enough to rattle her jawbone. How could it be he wasn’t coming yet? Well, fine by her. She’d enjoy gliding up and down his hard cock as long as he let her.
The superhero groaned in his sleep, even louder this time, and his hands groped blindly down his body until his fingers were halted by the tangle of Lana’s tousled black hair. She felt the embroidery of the gloves’ fingertips on her scalp, pushing and pulling like the moon on the ocean or the blood going back and forth in his veins, subconsciously wanting her to continue bobbing slowly on his member with her wet, slippery lips. She took him deep again, wanting a louder signal, and she didn’t stop until her mouth was splayed on his groin and her throat was massaging his cock.
“Ahhhhh…” he said, quite clearly, half a word but still verbal. Lana joined in the chorus, mewing and sighing as she wrapped his stalk in her tongue. His hips were hunched now, his body swaying to meet her lowering head. Peter was nearly awake, but he still wasn’t aware of his surroundings. All he was conscious of what his body’s need, the twin desires of his libido and his symbiote. He needed to come. He needed to come inside the needy, greedy mouth that had possessed his cock.
“God, you’re good!” Spider-Man gasped finally, eyes blinking behind their opaque lenses. “Really good at this—not in, like, a slutty way…”
He was talking in his sleep. Lana rocked her head up and down like she was jacking him off with her mouth. Maybe he would wake up. That’d be fun, seeing the expression on his face when he—wait.
“Take it all,” Spider-Man muttered, real force now behind his jolts forward. His body was trying to force itself into the same blissful pressure his cock was feeling. “Suck it, Sue! Make me come right in your mouth!”
Sue? So, the webhead had a girlfriend. Lana supposed it took all kinds. Still, right now, he was her boyfriend. And she was gonna take a little souvenir of the experience…
“Sue, oh Jesus, SUE!” The symbiote-induced torpor gave way to sudden, vibrant wakefulness, his eyes blowing wide open but unable to focus. His complete attention, every one of his senses, were focused inward on the monstrous orgasm that overflowed from his balls, flooded his shaft, and finally nuked the mouth of his dream lover, his body arching off its resting place, filling her mouth with cock as much as semen.
Much as the symbiote would merge with its host, his climax fell over her delighted tongue and covered her mouth, her throat, her stomach. Only a small percentage of his ejaculation slipped from her stretched lips, but that was more than enough to spill onto her top and forever stain the fabric in what would be yet another point of contention between mother and daughter for months to come. But the vast majority of what he shot into her mouth made it to the back of her throat, and from there to her stomach, as fast as she could swallow it. And Lana could swallow very, very fast.
For almost a minute straight, Peter pumped his seed down Lana’s throat, a derrick that’d struck oil and Lana eagerly mining his reservoir. She clung to the eruption like she was starving, now stroking his cock with her hands as if urging him to produce more cum for her to swallow. Every drop of semen was ushered into her belly by a swipe of her tongue. The symbiote had been created to heal the body, and just as it would replenish a man’s blood after he’d been cut, it’d been eager to restore his semen after the exhausting night with Silver Sable (among others). But once again, the symbiote did its job almost too well. Peter now possessed the equivalent semen of two years’ fruitless production. All of which Lana was happy to take off his hands.
The sheer release overwhelmed Peter with pleasure and contentment. He sprawled back to the bed in a daze. His head, barely lifted to begin with, now lolled to the side with the fuzzy image of Lana’s fucked face imprinted ephemerally on his memory. He thought of more than felt the tiny flicks of her tongue as she cleaned his cock of the cum that had dribbled down the sides.
Then, drained both mentally and physically, he surrendered to the all-encompassing glazing sensation that spread outward from his groin. His last sight—or part of the feckless dream he was having—was seeing Lana lick her fingers clean of all traces of his orgasms. She smiled at him with both her mouth and her eyes, and Peter dropped to the lowest level of consciousness, an animal level, where all he knew was the comfortable strain of a day’s hard work, the contented quiver of a full belly, and the blissful heat of empty loins.
Lana wiped her mouth off. “Yeah, go the fuck to sleep,” she told him, throwing a blanket haphazardly over him. The gesture was deliberately careless, just so he’d know she didn’t give a shit if he wasn’t sleeping. Then she marched out of the room, letting the doors lock automatically behind her. She needed to find a bed of her own. Somehow, that blowjob had really taken it out of her.
***
Peter slept and the symbiote worked inside his body. It had fed well, both on its host’s emissions and, surreptitiously, on the girl-human’s own lust. She hadn’t even been aware of being drained on a microscopic level, and now, without arousing any suspicion, it had nearly enough life energy to complete its replication.
Only a little more was required—another adrenaline rush, another bright star of pleasure—but the symbiote could wait. Its host had taught it patience, after all.
And soon enough, it sensed another girl-human. Another receptive girl-human, brimming with life force.
The symbiote would laugh if it were capable of such a thing. In its absence, it simply began anew the production of pheromones—now doubled by the addition of its fledgling spawn…
***
“Lana! Lana!” Lori called, dropping her tone until a flea could’ve told how fed up she was. It’d been hours since she’d gone off to tuck the webslinger in and read him a bedtime story; then she’d up and vanished into the chaos of the SHIELD rescue efforts, getting into God only knew what trouble. Lori circled the makeshift compound again, trying not to draw much attention to herself even as she tried to draw her daughter’s very, very rare attention. “LANA!”
Growling, she circled back, darting through and between the many busy worker bees to arrive back at the officer’s quarters Spider-Man had been put up in. Fury had assured her, in a flurry of four-letter words that put her teenager to shame, that Spider-Man was alone in there, that he personally had no knowledge of where Lana had gotten to, and furthermore, he didn’t give a (here the majority of four-letter words came in) about some high school supervillain.
Smarting at the memory, Lori tried the door to Spider-Man’s bunk. It didn’t give. Fine. Concentrating her power, Lori made a small explosion right in the lock. Now it opened. She slipped inside, shutting the door noiselessly behind her with years of extralegal experience.
The hero was lying in bed, alone. Well, that was a relief. Good to know that at least a patriotic gimp suit was enough to scare her daughter’s legs shut. Then she saw the bundle of fabric wadded at Spider-Man’s ankles. Bulldozing forward in disbelief, Lori yanked the thin bed sheet off his lower body. The next moment, her eyes were wide as saucers.
It was a sign of how angry Lori had been that she hadn’t noticed the bulge under the sheet. Upon her entrance, it had throbbed and the sheet had moved all the way to its four corners. Now, Lori saw in full what she had overlooked earlier. A cock nearly seven inches long, flaccid. And it was getting bigger.
In a way, breaking into the room had worked. Lori was no longer worried about her daughter.
She reached out a shaking hand, telling herself she just wanted to see if it really was that thick. Or was she being told that? Either way, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and found it quite girthy enough to fill her hand, twitching excitedly against her palm. As if by reflex, Lori began to move her hand up and down. She didn’t mean to tease his prick. It just happened. Just as his cock just thickened and lengthened, running with her efforts in wild throbs.
She stared with fascination at the filling vessel of hot, pounding blood, her heart beating faster. Lori couldn’t believe its size. Had Lana really taken that? It seemed so. Why else would he be undressed? But it was so big: thick and meaty, throbbing all the way down. She couldn’t imagine Lana taking a cock that big; could she herself even take it?
Lori bent lower to examine it. Why was it glistening? Was it—wet?
She gasped, letting go of him, as Spider-Man gave a start. He laid a foot away from her and his cock still came close to her face, with its skin pulled taut over fat veins and its cap burgeoning with dripping precum just inches from her face. It bobbed in the air was if mocking her.
“I… I see what you’re doing.” Lori pulled her dark hair from its maternal ponytail, letting it fan out as she tossed it to one side of her face in a well-practiced move (one that had landed her Lana’s father, in fact). “Lana’s got you believing all those nasty little stories about me being some kind of town bicycle. So you think all you have to do is flop out a big cock and I’m yours, huh?” She said it in an exasperatedly dramatic tone.
Spider-Man said nothing, strong and silent behind the stony exterior of his mask. His cock no longer moved, but seemed to be even straighter than it had been before.
Lori took off her cloak. It was getting awful warm in here. “Well, I’m not going to jump into bed with you just because you have a seven inch… eight inch cock,” she corrected herself. “I have dignity. Self-respect. I’m a mother, you know! And a damn good one!”
Precum ran down his cock like sap from a tree. A big, no, mighty oak of a tree.
“So one quickie and that’s it, no matter how much you beg!”
Lori’s panties came off faster than she had done anything in her life.
***
“OH GOD YES! WEB ME! WEB ME, YOU FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD MOTHERFUCKER!”
Deep inside Peter’s body—even deeper than the engorged cock was in Lori’s frantically oscillating body—the symbiote added to the ancestral memories it was passing on to its offspring.
It now knew where Lana Baumgartner got ‘it’ from.
***
Lori emerged from the room an hour later, glistening with sweat, among other fluids. She was totally exhausted, her breasts swollen, her lips bruised, her fully erect nipples dancing inside her suit as she tried to catch her breath. She could’ve attempted to straighten herself up before leaving, but she hadn’t wanted to chance another minute with that eight-inch temptation. When she’d left, it was still rock-hard, even though evidence of its depletion was presently running down her inner thigh.
She’d heard he had the proportionate strength and speed of a spider, but did he have something else as well? Did the arachnid family fuck like that? Because if they did, she was joining the nearest Buddhist monastery. She wanted to be reincarnated as something with eight legs.
“Mo-ther, there you are!” Lana called, running up to her. Lori huddled inside her coat, wrapping it tightly around herself. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Lori retorted.
“What were you doing in there? Is Spider-Man awake?”
“He’s up,” Lori replied. “Oh yes. He’s definitely up.”
***
When Peter woke up, he resolved to ask Fury if SHIELD sold its mattresses on the civilian market. That was the best sleep he’d had in ages.
***
X-Men, report.
Xavier sat calmly in his office, receiving the mental input of Jean and the other X-Men. With their controversial standing in the intelligence community, they weren’t assisting in the evacuation of the Helicarrier, but they were helping with the criminal activity. Already, three of the Sinister Six who’d broken out of the Triskelion were in custody, thanks to Wolverine and Storm. Iceman was working closely with Johnny Storm of the Fantastic Four quell a riot.
It would be important to establish that mutants had been there, on day one, helping the relief effort. It would deflate the inevitable revelation that Magneto was responsible.
Xavier just didn’t know why. Erik had always been capable of this wanton destruction, but what did he have to gain? Nothing. And the man never did anything without a purpose.
Unless… unless there was something more. Something bigger in the offing. And this was only…
“A distraction,” he said, looking up to the familiar void in the collective unconscious. Magneto’s shielded thoughts in the black hole of his helmet. That’s what he’d become to Xavier over the years. A gaping wound in the world’s psyche.
“Yes,” Erik confirmed.
“How dare you. Hundreds dead, SHIELD, the X-Men, the Ultimates, all out of your way so you can be here. Why?”
Erik swayed subtly in the doorway, like a cobra about to strike. “We’ve always thought alike, Charles. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Because I cannot fathom how the man I knew became a monster. Magneto.”
Erik stepped inside. His armor, his rage so out of place in the sedate, artistic surroundings. “Finally started calling me by my name, old friend?”
Charles’s eyes closed. “Please, tell me you’re not doing this. That this is the end of it—some Chess move—and not what I think it is.”
“You’ve always known it could come to this. All-out war. Superpowered holocaust. Like the Neanderthals; we cannot share the Earth. They’re destined to die out. Obsolescence. But we can no longer afford to wait the millennia it would take to be rid of them. I’ll clear the Earth of their deadwood before the fire can begin. Before it continues, I should say.”
“Why?” Charles asked, with all his pain, all his loss.
“For Pietro,” Erik replied, and Charles didn’t need the helmet out of the way to read him. He just needed to be his friend.
“I’m sorry. But no amount of death will even those scales.”
“This is not about revenge. It’s about having my eyes open. I’ve been as blind as you, Charles. In my own lifetime, I’ve seen what the humans have done. All of history speaks of it. War and famine and ecological devastation. They are incapable of morality. Once before, God didn’t like what He had created. It took forty days and forty nights to wash the stench of their blasphemy from the Earth. I will help Him this time. It will be done in three.”
“You’re not God. I don’t know what you are. But they will hunt you down for this. And I will help them. We will stop you while you can still be remembered simply as a madman, and not as a war criminal.”
With a gesture, the metal wheels of Xavier’s wheelchair were in motion. He was brought before Magneto like a supplicant before an altar.
“I didn’t come here to talk, Charles. I came here for the inevitable.”
The pulse of electricity was quick and brutal, ripping through Xavier’s brain, blinding every nerve and overloading every neuron. He died still thinking they were talking.
Erik took off his helmet to regard his friend as he once had: unencumbered. “To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to die, and a time for a new world to be born.”
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The Invisible Handjob