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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
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They took their lovemaking to the bedroom. After fifteen minutes, it was clearly the only furniture in the apartment that could handle them. The mattress was bumpy, the springs squeaked like hungry kittens, and the sheets, clean as they were, itched. No wonder Peter slept in pajamas; Tony Stark birthday present. With accompanying slippers.
But Mary Jane didn’t mind. Not with Felicia on top of her, wearing nothing more than boots, gloves, strap-on, and smile. God, her breasts nearly blocked MJ’s view of her face. How big were they? Mary Jane’s bra was 34C, 36C—it varied with American sizing being such a clusterfuck. But for a fashion model, they were practically udders. And Felicia made her look like she hadn’t hit puberty. F-cups, they just had to be… big, big breasts of creamy white skin that demanded a grope, a taste… Good God, how had Mary Jane ever ignored them?
Felicia wasn’t immune to Mary Jane’s charms either, naked underneath her save for the top of her borrowed Spider-Man costume, rolled up to her armpits so it only covered her collarbones and her arms. Not even gloves to hide that wonderful manicure of hers, which was now embedded in Felicia’s hips. No, Felicia wasn’t at all ignorant of the sight before her, Mary Jane’s trim body and bountiful breasts shaking, throbbing, undulating with pleasure and the anticipation of more pleasure.
But at the moment, Felicia was mostly focused on the dildo she was fucking into MJ’s body.
Gaining even a little ground with it was a painstaking process, given its size. And Mary Jane was unbelievably tight for a woman who’d been dating Peter Parker. Felicia was not ashamed of the fact that she could take the Rhino, if he played his cards right, but she did enjoy a challenge.
Ten strokes just to work the bulbous head inside Mary Jane, a reward of moans that were delicate as snowflakes. Felicia had to play the long game. You wouldn’t think it, given her love of drinking, one-night stands, and vigilante heists, but Felicia could be very patient. She waited so that when she was impulsive, she wouldn’t have to be even more patient behind bars.
But both women enjoyed it, even with its difficulty. It took what seemed like hours, with Mary Jane desperately impatient for Felicia to just fuck her, but the massive strap-on slid inside. It didn’t even hurt. Mary Jane sighed as much in relief as pleasure. She’d never felt this thing before; in front of Peter, all they’d done was fingers and lips. More than enough, but this was much, much more than enough. MJ guessed she was just a little too used to being a straight girl to ever turn up her nose at good old-fashioned P-in-V sex. But with her new take on double dating, she wouldn’t have to.
Not that she had any complaints about lesbianism, either. She rewarded Felicia for her patience with an eager kiss, her hips bucking, fighting to take the prodigious strap-on deeper and deeper inside. And it went, seemingly endless in its penetration. Until Mary Jane knew she had taken it all. And with one last kiss and ten solid strokes, she’d taken enough for a howler of an orgasm.
No words were exchanged as Felicia held the dildo deep, deep inside Mary Jane, letting her tighten with pleasure around it. There was no need. It was obvious from the look on Mary Jane’s face and the distinctly wordless sounds coming from her mouth.
In all the excitement, neither of them realized that the webbing holding Peter in the other room had dissipated.
Felicia withdrew from Mary Jane, each slickened inch widening her Cheshire-cat smile. She took a vial of self-heating lotion from her boot—Felicia always kept the essentials on her person—and gave MJ some afterplay, massaging the lotion gently, oh so gently, into the pussy she’s asked so much of. Mary Jane cooed and sighed, enjoying the warm bath of her genitals.
“Shall we go again?” Felicia asked, quite enjoying the way a lock of hair fell across one eye as she asked. Very femme fatale.
“How can we do it again?” Mary Jane asked. “When you haven’t even finished yet?”
Felicia made a face.
“Peter used to give me seven orgasms.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“An hour.”
Felicia bit her lip. She began rubbing the lotion into her strap-on.
The Black Cat didn’t just enjoy challenges. She lived for them.
***
Peter staggered into the laundry room—basically the one perk his apartment offered. True to her word, Mary Jane had dumped his costume into the wash, though it would need some stitching and a lot of bleach before it was wearable again. The spin-cycle done, he took it out and put it in the dryer, all the while being careful of the throbbing hard-on proceeding him. The last thing he wanted to do was be a two-pump chump with the two most important women in his life—Jesus, that would be one pump apiece. So he had to get this under control.
He ducked into the kitchen—the shower was through the bedroom, where the blissful sounds of lovemaking still rang out—and turned the cold water tap on full blast. He cupped the cool water in his hands and splashed it onto his naked body, washing off a grimy layer of sweat airport style. Of course, rubbing himself down while two beautiful ladies made love in the other room did nothing to contain his erection. After he’d given his cock a swipe (for hygienic reasons only) he felt so short of breath he could’ve contracted asthma.
“Fuck it,” he said aloud. He ran full tilt to make the show his ears were promising him and found Mary Jane on her back in his bed, her legs thrashing and kicking when they weren’t embracing Felicia’s hips, trying to imprison them and the strap-on they wore. Her hands held Cat’s lips tight against her own, tongues polishing each other, but not enough to drown out the sound of their mutual enjoyment.
Peter went to them. He wasn’t trying to be stealthy; he just didn’t think to make noise. In fact, it was without a single thought of any kind that he knelt onto the bed to embrace Felicia from behind, his pelvis against her luscious ass, his engorged prick savoring the warm crease of her buttocks. He kissed her with the same passion he used to reach down and stroke her excruciatingly ready clitoris.
Felicia couldn’t be more receptive. She flexed her asscheeks obligingly as her pale arms drew both her lovers to her body, Mary Jane’s soft breasts yielding slightly against her chest, Pete’s own stiff nipples cutting into her back. Then she brought all of their mouths together in a three-way kiss of parted lips and twisting tongues.
That’s when the white-haired cat burglar reacted to Peter’s novel ministrations. She felt her clit burn like a blowtorch being lit, the heat sweeping up her belly, pooling in her tits, making her face flush.
Without a moment’s resistance she gave into it, losing herself in the arousal that had been plying her since she first entered Mary Jane. She screamed like a volcanic eruption, releasing what seemed like millennia of repressed lust and orgasmic need. And even as the hot lava spilled from her cunt to burn her thighs, she urged Peter and MJ together. Peter kissed the redhead passionately as he reached around Felicia and cupped her titanic breasts with hands wet from her own molten orgasm.
“Hello to you too,” Felicia gasped, before he kissed her again, then Mary Jane once more. “Anything you’d like to say to me, lover?”
He stopped—Mary Jane kissed at his hard chest—to look her up and down. “You had to get your boots on the bed?”
Felicia wiggled her ass against the insistent throbbing that was pressed into it. “Red said it was okay.” Then she was kissing Mary Jane to keep her from protesting her innocence and he was kissing her shoulder—fuck, how many possibilities were there…? “Don’t suppose you would like a ride? Now that I’ve broken her in?”
She began to pull the strap-on out as Mary Jane good-naturedly gave her the finger.
Peter’s hand on the small of her back stopped her. “Leave it in.”
Felicia’s breath ran fast as he took up position behind her, pushing the strap of her dildo out of the way, that cock she’d been dreaming about finally touching her cunt. “Oh, sweet Jesus…”
As enjoyable as what’d come before had been, this was simply ecstatic—a rush like a drug high, blurring together because the one moment of continuous pleasure couldn’t possibly be distinguished from another. He entered her while she was still inside Mary Jane, and his thrust hit them both, pushing the dildo deeper into MJ.
They both cried out in sisterly symphony, then Mary Jane sat up, embracing Peter with Felicia in-between them. Their loins worked like a row of wheels on a train, all pumping and retreating and pistoning in a way that looked complicated, but came together in simple, beautiful coordination. They went so hard that they were bouncing, the three of them, rodeoing up and down on the bedspread as it squeaked and squeaked. Their lips kissed everything that could be touched; Felicia felt hungry mouths on her cheek, her lips, her throat, even her nose. And they laughed. Thin, reedy, shrill, delighted, deep-throated—it seemed like their trio knew the punchline to a joke only they’d been told.
Then Peter stopped. Being inside Felicia, his desperate need to fuck her had receded—a little—and now he wanted to draw this out, as he would one of those golden moments with Gwen or Uncle Ben. Okay, not like with Uncle Ben.
But so many times, he’d been perfectly happy without even realizing it until it’d been ripped away. And right now, this second, for at least the duration of this breath, he was happy and he was in love and the people he was in love with were happy. He wanted to savor it, because even if there were a million more moments like this one in store for him, that didn’t make this any less special.
Peter kissed them both, one at a time, and none of them kept track of who he kissed first or who he kissed longest. It didn’t matter. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Mary Jane replied, meaning it exactly as he did. Plural.
“Love you two,” Felicia teased, tapping two fingers on Mary Jane’s lower back.
Mary Jane kissed her, just as lovingly as Peter had. “Know what?” she asked sweetly, looping her arms around Felicia, one hand on Peter’s shoulder and one right on his ass. “I think it’s my turn to drive.”
She drew herself up to Peter, sandwiching Felicia between them, both women impaled on the hard cocks held inside them. Long years of companionship had Peter holding steady as she’d wished, just letting Felicia’s sex writhe around his. Mary Jane pulled away again, gravity sapping Felicia off of Peter until MJ skewered herself on Felicia’s cock once more—which impaled Felicia on Peter’s.
And Peter held absolutely still. It was just like he’d tried to show them by staying webbed to the wall for the full hour. Sometimes, self-control had its rewards.
Mary Jane kept stroking Felicia’s body with her own, fucking herself and Cat at the same time, Peter undulating with their motion just enough to compliment his wife. It was slow, sensuous, just the way Mary Jane liked it—and Felicia was not so addicted to being fucked hard and fast to dislike the motion of Peter’s shaft dipping in and out of her, or the ebbing, flowing pressure that MJ put on the base of her dildo.
Felicia came first—a bit unfairly, since she’d had the previous orgasm as well, but MJ didn’t begrudge her either. In a fitting counterpart to the screaming orgasm of earlier, she rested her chin on Mary Jane’s shoulder, sighed explosively, and shut her eyes, her loins shuddering enough for both Peter and Mary Jane to know what had happened.
“Keep going,” she told them, giving them permission to fuck right through her body, even if it stung. She kinda liked the sting. She was dating a spider, after all.
Then it was Mary Jane’s turn. Peter’s lips were on hers, Felicia’s mouth was on her neck, and her cunt was full. She just couldn’t not come under those circumstances. Her world’s colors became so bright she could’ve been in a movie, as she threw her head back so Felicia’s tired head fell to her cleavage, and a moan of animal delight was sung from her clenching body. Peter felt the earthquake of her release, right through Felicia’s body.
On the other hand, he thought, sometimes self-control really had to fuck off and die.
They tipped onto their sides as Peter hugged Mary Jane to Felicia, to his body, pumping into Cat so hard she was pinned to MJ. No more kisses. Just the growling, the moaning, the grunting as he fucked the two of them against his own unbreakable grip. The women grabbed onto everything they could reach: the sheets, Peter, each other. Still, they were shaken as hard as a man chained to a bucking bronco.
Felicia came again from the pressure of the straps on her groin—that, Mary Jane resented, at least until her own multiple orgasm had her back arching against Peter’s enclosing hands. And Peter was aware of nothing except their pleasure and his impending finish. Impossibly, he increased the pace of the relentless fucking he was giving them.
Once more, he felt Felicia tugging at his thick cock in orgasm. This time he joined her, his heavy-laden balls finally bursting. A last jolt drove him into Felicia so hard that she was only spared physical harm by her Mutate nature. He found places of Felicia’s slit deeper than he had ever gone, and marked them with a gushing payload of hot semen, an explosion of warmth inside Felicia; she could’ve sworn the skin of her lower belly was hot to the touch.
It drove her wild, the kick of cum so intense that (she would swear to this also) it drove her into Mary Jane, setting off the redhead as well—a triple orgasm, the women clenching in solidarity with each other, Peter splattering Felicia with equal fervor, each shot from his cock seeming more powerful until he was done, more than empty, and when he pulled out of Felicia, his drained cock was still semi-erect.
Waves of pleasure washed over all three of them, each thrilling to an aspect of what they had done. The love they’d shared, the animal maleness they’d felt, or the wonderful femininity they’d experienced. Barely conscious, Peter was pulled and ushered by the two women up in-between them, his head hitting the pillow and instantly shutting him off from the top down. Even then, it took his manhood more than a few seconds to finally give in.
Felicia and Mary Jane laid on either side of him, heads on his chest, arms wrapped around Peter and each other. Though he was asleep, Peter’s smile mirrored their own.
“I know there was a reason I put up with him,” Felicia said weakly, before she too spiraled down, down, granted a few moments of wakefulness by the dying lashes of ecstasy still between her legs, then her eyes closed with finality and she began to gently snore.
Mary Jane gazed into her sweetly sleeping friend’s face and reminded herself that it was what her newfound lover looked like. Peter’s newfound lover, as well. She waited for jealousy to raise up, for her old fear of abandonment to take hold, but neither happened.
She was content. She was absolutely, uncategorically pleased with what they had done. The only thing she wasn’t happy with was the wait until it happened again. And though she wouldn’t dream of holding her own relationship with Peter over Felicia’s, or trying to compare one of his loves to another—she liked that it was her who was sleeping on his heart, hearing it beat as a dream took hold. One she wouldn’t remember, but she’d know it didn’t compare to having the man she loved and her best friend both in her arms.
Where they belonged.
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The Gwen Stacy Syndrome