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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
- 12
- 13
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.
“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.
- 12
- 13
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The Gwen Stacy Syndrome