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The Gwen Stacy Syndrome	By : Ksennin Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Spiderman Views: 39315 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Felicia lived in an Empire Suite in the Carlyle, the luxury hotel where Marilyn Monroe had had her tryst with JFK, thanks to some secret tunnels. Peter guessed knowing that was how some real estate agent had made a mint off Felicia Hardy.
Being gently, but somewhat icily ushered in by the various concierges and door staff, Peter and Darcy made their way to the 28^th floor. The elevator had a window on one side that looked out large portholes in the building’s façade to show them the climb up New York. It was all very impressive, if you couldn’t climb the wall with your hands. Similarly, the brisk walk to Felicia’s door had enough fine art involved to make MOCA jealous, but it mostly reminded Peter of Tony Stark’s powder room. He’d lived a hell of a life. And that was before last night.
Felicia answered the door in a work-out bra and yoga pants, her sweaty white hair sticking to her neck and shoulders. Sweat covered her toned midriff like the condensation on a tall, cool glass of Coke—the kind you needed after a long day in the sun. She even smelled nice. A good, physical scent like caviar, almost. How come Peter never ended up smelling like caviar after a couple hours swinging around in a spandex onesie?
Maybe my neckline isn’t low enough, he thought.
“Oh. Hey, reporter monkeys,” she called sweetly, stepping back to allow them in. “Just finishing my work-out. I love a good work-out.” She said it eying Peter as he came through the door.
On the way up in the elevator, a little video system had narrated the ‘story of the Empire Suite.’ Felicia’s was a three-bedroom duplex on the 28^th and 29^th floors that had been owned by a painter whose name Peter couldn’t begin to pronounce, until he’d been killed by Ultron one of those times Ultron killed a lot of people. ‘Designer Thierry Despont’ (Peter could begin to pronounce his name, but not finish) had refurbished the 2,600-square-foot apartment with ‘American and French Art Deco touches,’ ‘the rich fabric textures of boiled wool and cashmere,’ ‘a sweeping staircase that he’s referred to as his masterpiece.’ Then an MMoA curator had filled the penthouse’s walls with Parisian art from the Golden Age, which Peter guessed but would not state as being the 1920s. Maybe the 1930s. He didn’t think it was the 1940s. Hard to find time to paint when you were surrendering to the Nazis.
“Felicia Hardy,” she said, chugging that new water that came in a glass bottle.
“Darcy Lewis,” Peter’s new boss replied, with a gesture to him. “Peter Parker, the Bugle’s best photographer.”
“Guy who gets all the pictures of Spider-Man.” Felicia smiled at him. “I have your book.”
“It’s a good book,” Peter replied uncertainly. He hated the whole thing of pretending not to know someone you know as Spider-Man/a threesome haver.
“Like the art?” she followed up. With him, she eyed an Impressionistic painting of the view from the Empire State Building. It was good work. The way the city lights looked at night were somehow realer for being transformed into paint and canvas. Peter’d often marveled at it himself, just in the flesh. “I have to admit, it’s not as much fun when you have to pay for it. But at least the IRS can’t take it. I need a shower.”
And she walked off, kicking a ratty pair of sneakers to the wall.
“What does she mean by that?” Peter asked Darcy, even though there was no way she knew Felicia better than him, other than sharing a chromosome.
“Maybe she wants us to follow her?”
She had to rub the size of her shower in his face.
***
The bathroom was a little like the one at Avengers Tower, with the sinks you could bathe a midget in. Not that Peter saw much of it. Felicia left the door open a crack, enough to see the shower stall that could probably fit four people in it, as well as the showerhead she moved over her sudded-up body.
Keep in character, Peter reminded himself, standing parallel to that cracked door, his back to the wall. Darcy had no such compunctions, practically standing in the doorway as she interviewed Hardy. She even gave him a look like, man, you oughta see this chick’s cans.
“So hey, how’s the detective agency going?” Darcy called, tossing her pocket recorder to Peter. He dutifully held it in front of the door as Darcy used pen and paper to make sure she didn’t lose anything to the sound of the shower spray.
“Private security firm,” Felicia replied. “It’s… fun. I don’t like to micromanage. I do the PR, the tweets, occasionally I consult on the more exotic cases.” Her voice rose on that, enjoying the recollection. Or maybe it was just that she was washing off her thighs. “Mostly it’s just a matter of finding the right people and letting them handle my needs. Would you like to get a picture? I don’t think people will believe this happened if you don’t.”
Darcy and Peter shared an incredulous hah. “I don’t think they’d let us print it.”
“You can try. C’mon now, Parker, was it? Don’t be shy…”
Peter hoisted his camera from the strap around his neck, taking care not to be too suggestive adjusting the lens, then stepped into the doorway. Felicia stood in the shower, her side to him, arms against the wall, blocking most of his view of her cleavage. He could still see the curve of her hip, and it made him relive the feel of it under his fingers all over again.
“Say cheese,” he said numbly, and took the picture. He thought a Pulitzer might be in order for keeping it PG-13.
“There now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Felicia turned off the shower and pushed the foggy glass door open. She’d shaved since last night. “Pass me the towel?”
Peter felt Darcy standing on her tip toes to look over her shoulder. “Certainly.” Somewhat protective even now, he tried to block Darcy’s view a little as he reached over to the towel rack, took what was quite possibly the hide of a skinned polar bear, and held it out to Felicia.
“Thank you,” she replied, sweet as sugar. When she took it, her wet fingers brushed against his. He felt the heat of the water like the heat of her body. Peter didn’t think the shower in his apartment even went that hot.
“I’ve also heard of a few sightings of the Black Cat,” Darcy broke in. “Care to comment?”
Felicia wrapped the towel around herself. Hotel-issue, it was a scanty thing to hold in all her cleavage and contain her great height. The bottom cut off at mid-thigh. “It’s not illegal to stop a few muggings. Or to get a few cats out of a few trees. And it’s good publicity for the agency. My boys work hard. They deserve anything that makes their lives easier.”
“Some of those sightings have been linked to crimes. You know—larceny?”
Felicia slunk out of the bathroom, staring down at Darcy so close that the water from her damp hair almost dripped on her. “Copycats.” Her attention shifted behind her, to Peter, though she didn’t look at him. “Parker, how many times has Spider-Man been accused of a crime, only for it to turn out to be Mysterio, or the Chameleon, or just a Skrull looking to give him a hard time?”
“…a lot,” Peter said evenly, meaning don’t bring me into this.
“So we’re going with Skrulls?” Darcy asked, her tone calling bullshit. She sounded it out again. “We are going with Skrulls…”
Felicia pursed her lips. “I’m making you feel overdressed, aren’t I? Well, if you’re not taking anything off, I should put something on.” Her gaze shifted to Peter. “Any requests?”
“Pants?” he squeaked. Her towel was stretched so thin over her breasts he suspected it was going to turn translucent.
“If you insist. Come on, reporter monkeys. Time is money. Money is happiness.”
Darcy snatched back her recorder from Peter as he stood there, watching Felicia wiggle away, motionless. He couldn’t help it. It was like meeting Mary Jane for the first time all over again. Back when he hadn’t even known they made dresses that short.
She led them into her dressing room, introducing them to a few of her cats on the way. Apparently, most of the twice daily room service was the care and feeding of the felines. Felicia fed them herself when she was able, and paid the hotel staff extra to learn their names and even let them roam the halls at times.
The dressing room could’ve been more technically referred to as a walk-in closet, only by no stretch of the imagination was it a closet. It was a whole room given over to clothes, with multiple dressers, a wall devoted to shoes, a holographic projector that showed what the user looked like in different combinations (Tony had one of those too), and one whole wardrobe devoted to lingerie.
“What do you want me in?” Felicia asked, her sultry drawl going full-force, hitting Peter like a cloudburst. “I’ll defer to the man on this one. Unless the lady has an opinion…?” Her look at Darcy was an open question, and not the kind she’d asked.
“Only when I’ve had two too many Margaritas,” Darcy replied.
“I have wine,” Felicia offered suggestively.
“Yeah, I don’t drink on the job.”
“Shouldn’t that depend on the job?”
Peter looked over her collection as the women continued their patter, noting one negligee in particular. Lingerie from Mary Jane’s defunct line, Red-Headed Stranger, from back when she was barely out of college and ready to conquer the world. The fashion world had eaten its young particularly fast, in that case, but MJ’s determination to have a career had transitioned her into a well-regarded actress. Peter was far more proud of that determination to continue her career than the beauty that had started it in the first place.
“Those,” he said, interrupting a veiled joke Felicia was making about blowjobs.
Felicia looked at them. It hadn’t been a test, she just hadn’t realized they were in there—the same spark of realization Peter had had made her giggle. “Good choice.”
Felicia stepped behind a dressing screen to change—the one thing in the room that wasn’t ultra-modern. Peter stayed on the other side of it; the view of her silhouette through the translucency was peepshow enough for him. Darcy, though, casually leaned on the wall so she could see inside.
“But how’s your love life, anyway? Until one of the Avengers comes out of the closet, the big news in superhero gossip is you and… Daredevil, was it?”
“It was,” Felicia said, emphasis on the past-tense. “But life’s too short for me to get hung up on any one man. I’m a cat on the prowl. I go where my nose takes me.”
“Hey, has your nose been aimed at Spider-Man lately? I mean, you two have history in a big way.”
“Spidey’s…fun. Really, really fun.” Peter could hear Felicia’s smile in her voice. “And I’m fun too. Sometimes we have fun together. But don’t wait up expecting invitations to the wedding. I only go to those to do the bridesmaids.”
Felicia stepped out from behind the dressing screen, wearing what could only be construed as a challenge to imagine her naked. It was black silk, sheer enough to be translucent though the coloration was enough to deter those with poor imaginations. She gave a turn, showing how it both clung to her frankly enormous breasts and hovered around her full ass.
Peter remembered when Mary Jane had worn it for the first time, giddy and showing off, his own happiness for her almost more sexual than the outfit. He’d done nothing else that night but experimented with all the ways that particular garment could be moved out of the way to let him in.
But with it on Felicia, the negligee both brought back memories and proved thrillingly new. The curves of Felicia’s gracious body showed through every inch of the material. Peter couldn’t help himself. He mentally removed that one percent of fabric that kept her from being wholly naked. With his memories of her body, the feel of her flesh still on his skin, Peter could imagine all of what his eyes had avoided in the shower.
Skin as pale as a saucer of cream, her breasts like ripe melons, her legs shapely with muscle, the dimples where her waist truly became her back—the little rounded exclamation of her navel, the rounded buttocks that were impossibly soft when the rest of her could be so hard with muscle… the strong jawline, the soft cheeks, the blazing green eyes that challenged when the rest of her body pleased. And finally, the little silken tuft of white hair that she left to overlay her otherwise bare slit.
Felicia ran her hands over her breasts, fingers clinging to her flesh as the silk did, both emphasizing her cleavage. The curl of her lips showed how much she loved the feel of the fabric against her skin. When her hands came away, her nipples were erect, stabbing into the silk. “Photograph me, Parker.”
In the middle of the room was a minimalist Méridienne: the ‘boyfriend seat’ for men to wait in while she tried on this outfit or that. Felicia sat down on it and Peter shot her. She gave him a chiding look, not being ready yet, and he shrugged unapologetically. It was worth a picture, just her sitting down. She put her hands on her knees and spread her legs; he shot an off-center view of the stance. Then she drew her legs together and lifted her breasts with her hands. He shot that too.
“So you and Spider-Man… c’mon, dude?” Darcy asked. “Superfriends with benefits?”
Felicia inched the lacy hem of her nightie up her thighs as she spoke. “I don’t like labels. Especially stupid ones. Peter, do you think my panties look alright?” She reached down between her legs, smoothing it out over the dark shadow of her sex, adjusting the tiny ruffles just a degree.
Peter blushed furiously. “I…”
“That’s exactly the look I was going for.” She laid back, inviting him to shoot up her crotch. Peter did, but high enough that all the camera caught was from her belly on up.
“But you’re not dating anyone?” Darcy insisted, sitting on the Méridienne alongside Felicia as a way of drawing her attention.
“No, honey. But like Starbucks, I’m always accepting applications.” Felicia bit down on the sleeve of Darcy’s baggy jumper, pulling on it with clenched teeth. “Why? Are you interested in a position?”
Peter snapped a picture, which got him a dirty look from Darcy. “Get a shot of her ass, Parker. She’s a perfect ass,” Darcy said, drawing out her ‘slip’.
Felicia rolled onto her belly, put her hands onto the unblemished globes of her ass, and pulled the smooth white cheeks open so her scant panties crawled up the crevice of her posterior. Peter dully snapped a picture. He found himself breathing heavily in admiration of the soft swell that belonged to her naked thighs. Though he was standing, he crossed his ankles and hunched, trying to hide the product of the aching that built steadily at his groin.
Thankfully, Darcy was too focused on Felicia to notice. Her eyes were starting to light up behind her glasses. “Say I did… fill your position.”
“Ooh.” Felicia giggled naughtily.
“You’re saying Spider-Man would be fine with his girlfriend stepping out on him?”
“I’m not Spider-Man’s girlfriend,” Felicia said, distinctly impatient. “But c’mon. Do you really think a boy scout like that would do more with me than a little messing around? I’m not the girl you take home to mother. Am I, Parker?”
Felicia flipped over, red flowing up from her core to give her the healthiest pink hue. As much as Peter liked to watch her, she enjoyed being watched more. She stretched out on the Méridienne, her cheek to Darcy’s leg, her breasts on full display against the thin fabric of her negligee. She licked her lips and Peter obediently snapped a picture of them gleaming wetly.
“I’d take you anywhere,” he said softly.
Darcy didn’t hear him. “Neither am I,” she confided. “But that doesn’t mean guys don’t take me places. Tell me, would you care if Spider-man cheated on you?”
“Not likely with the mug he’s got under the mask. He’s hideously deformed, you know. Makes Deadpool look like Orlando Bloom. I have him keep the mask on while we’re telling secrets.”
Peter winced at that. He didn’t like being reminded of the brief period of their relationship when he’d been so cavalier as to insist on them keeping the masks on, even having her close her eyes while they had sex. It was like Doc Ock had gotten hold of his body early. Thankfully, he would have a lot of time to make that and a lot of other things up to Felicia.
“But let’s say Freddy Krueger did meet a nice girl who didn’t dress up as a cat?” Darcy pressed.
“More power to him. It’s not like he’d be the only superhero with an open relationship. You think Tony Stark has never had a threesome? Or Emma Frost is fine with lights-off Cyclops sex for the rest of her life? Hell, you think Namor would keep coming to New York if Sue wasn’t giving up a little something?” Her hands up on the Méridienne’s headrest now, Felicia leaned forward so almost all of her cleavage billowed into view. Her nipples were becoming even harder, rising with each pulse of her heaving breasts, pressing against the very edge of her dress. She wanted to be fucked.
“Hey Parker,” she called gently, “any adjustments you’d like to make?”
This wasn’t the first boudoir photography Peter had done. When he and MJ had been living together, she’d let him test out new cameras on her—allowing him to direct in the manner she was accustomed to, albeit far sweeter than most studio photographers. And, of course, he was allowed to show her exactly the pose he wanted her to strike by moving her into it—touching her breasts, her ass, her belly, her lips. Having Felicia strike poses entirely of her own accord was arousing too, in its own way, but Peter was aware of just what he had to do to get a perfect picture.
Peter fingered the strap of her negligee, removing that one clingy strand of fabric, allowing her neckline to dip practically to the floor. The actual areola of her left nipple came into view, instantly drawing Darcy’s eye, while Peter was lost in the feel of her skin against the fingers that had half-undone her negligee.
Bending over her, almost unaware of himself, he took in the scent of her nakedly exposed neck, fresh from the shower. A smell uniquely her own.
“I think this picture should stay between just the two of us,” Felicia said, giving the camera her best Blue Steel. “Or should that be three of us?” Her eyes flickered to Darcy.
“Yeah, yeah, your tits are amazing,” Darcy groused. “But you’re evading my questions.”
“You think I’m lying? That Spider-Man is my secret husband or something?”
“I’ve been able to suspend a whole lot of disbelief since I met Rocket Raccoon.”
After Peter took one picture, Felicia smiled for another. Her bright grin Peter found far more attractive than the Vogue look of before. The bulge in his pants grew accordingly. “I’ll prove it to you, Ms. Lewis. To show you I’m not the least bit hung up on Spider-Man, I’ll fuck the first guy I see.” Felicia looked up, meeting Peter’s eyes. “Oh. Hello there.”
Then she took him by the tie of his navy-blue suit and just… kissed the hell out of him.
That was all Peter could take. Repeated exposure had done nothing to lessen Felicia’s power over him. Now there were two women in his life who could command his heart with a simple glance. Which Peter had a hard time seeing the downside of, at the moment.
He licked down the length of Felicia’s exquisite neck, all the way to the deep cleavage of her chest. A sweep of his hand quickly removed the last, offending strap of her negligee, and it dropped to spill out her incredible breasts, the diamond-hard nipples grazing his chest, adding to both their lust. Felicia cast a look at Darcy as Peter devoured her breasts.
“In or out?” she said heatedly.
Darcy was next to speechless. “Holy shit, Parker!” was all she could say, though the words came out hardly chiding. Dude was clearly a breast man, and those were any breast man’s white whale.
“I’m taking my lunch break,” Peter quipped, rolling Felicia’s nightie down her body and kissing what he uncovered.
Felicia laughed. “Nice one!” She faced Darcy. “Don’t… think I’m easy. Before I started this, I checked to see if he had a big cock. And this motherfucker--” She reached down to grind her hand between Peter’s legs. “What’s your name again?” she ‘asked’.
“Peter,” he replied hurriedly.
“How appropriate! Ms. Lewis, Peter here seems like a really sweet guy—but he has the cock of a complete monster.”
Peter had been subjected to a lot of things in his life. Sexual objectification was a new one. He decided he liked it better than running out of webbing.
Darcy shut off her recorder, mustering all her professionalism. “I think I’ll wait outside. I can get Peter’s impressions later.”
“Oh, you think he’ll leave impressions?” Felicia smirked. She waved Darcy off. “There’s food in the fridge. Help yourself. And shut the door on the way out. It’s soundproofed and, I’m a screamer.”
The doors swung shut after Darcy. Peter finished the kiss he was on, then pulled away from Felicia’s exotically pierced belly button. “I think she bought it. She actually thinks we’re having sex.”
“She’s smart that way,” Felicia said, and shoved Peter to the ground.
A moment later, he was mounted.
Two moments later, Felicia stopped kissing him. Her rumpled negligee hanging off her waist gave her the jungle loincloth look of Shanna the She-Devil or something. “What’s wrong?”
“Felicia, this is about as right as my life has been—ever,” he assured her.
“No, this feels like when I’m trying to seduce you. When you’re all stiff and unreceptive and I usually end up in jail.” She stroked his face, her touch like a firebrand. “What is it, Peter? Tell me.”
“It’s just… weird, doing this without Mary Jane here. I know, I know she’d be fine with it, I should be fine with it too. But it feels…”
“Like you’re cheating on her?”
Peter nodded guiltily.
“MJ felt the same way without you. She got over it.”
“So will I,” Peter promised her. “Maybe we could just go a little slower?”
“Or…” Felicia reached under the Méridienne, coming up with a burner phone. “Who says Mary Jane can’t be here?”
***
Mary Jane’s foot wouldn’t stop tapping. The hall outside the audition room was like the entryway to a slaughterhouse. There must’ve been a hundred actresses, all given the same casting sides, all trying to imagine a character out of a bare thousand words, all given twenty minutes to win a role that could literally be a career.
The casting call had come out of nowhere: just about every actress MJ knew was in on it. The net had been cast wide. She was nervous as hell and she still had a hour’s wait to go.
Her cell phone rang then. MJ quit memorizing the side for a third time and checked it. Peter. She picked up. “Pete, I’m freaking out,” she whispered—the actresses on either side of her being too absorbed in iPod and meditation technique to overhear.
“What, what’s wrong?”
“Last-minute casting call. If I get it—it could be big. It could be really, really big.”
“So you’ll get it.” Peter’s confidence in was in stark contrast to his own self-confidence; it never wavered.
“Everyone here is younger and hotter than me.”
“I believe the younger part.”
Mary Jane smiled despite herself. “Can you call me back with the pep talk a little later? I think it’ll wear off by the time I get inside. Hey, what’d you want to talk to me about?”
“Oh, it’s nothing…”
MJ stood, stepping away from the line of actresses, leaning against the opposite wall for privacy. “Did you figure out me and Felicia’s plan?”
“Yeah, we were just—getting a little carried away, actually.”
“Mmm. What are you wearing?”
“Not much. But compared to Felicia, I’m a priest.”
Mary Jane smiled into the mouthpiece. “I don’t know who I’m jealous of.”
“Well, uh, ‘bout that…”
“Gimme that,” came a muffled voice over the line, and MJ heard some rustling as the phone was fumbled around. “Red, we want to have the phone sex with you,” Felicia enunciated, tres clear.
That made MJ forget about that bitch Shailene Woodley about to audition for her part. “Hold on a sec. Let me find a supply closet.”
***
“So, do you have a burner phone in every room of your house?” Peter asked, fiddling with the phone to activate its video link.
“Of course,” Felicia replied. “Condoms and lubricant too. And guns.”
“You’re like a sexy Gary Busey,” Peter said.
“Please. I’m a very sexy Gary Busey.” Felicia bared her teeth.
The phone’s screen turned into a little icon indicating it was waiting for confirmation on the other end, which cleared to become streaming video of a dark supply closet with a redhead inside. Peter smiled. “Hey MJ.”
“Tiger,” Mary Jane said fondly. “I’m alone… show me our girl.”
Peter aimed the phone’s camera at Felicia, who struck a little pose covering her bare breasts with her hands. Then squeezing them.
“Mmhmm. And where’s Peter?”
Peter turned the phone around, giving her a wave.
“Not that Peter.”
Felicia took hold of the phone and pushed down on it until it showed his cock, jutting up towards Felicia who was seated on his thighs.
“Holy shit. Felicia, what did you do to that boy?”
“Wore some of your lingerie. You should get back in the negligee business. Ads would be easy. ‘Good enough for a Spider-Man, but made for a Spider-Woman.’”
Peter tapped at Felicia’s thigh. With MJ in the conversation, he was able to relax that crucial inch that’d proven so weird for him and Black Cat. “Hey, since she can’t be here in person, how about we let Mary Jane decide what happens now… you know, with the sex?”
“I like that idea.” Felicia directed the camera phone at herself. “How ‘bout it, Red? Wanna see Peter punish me for being such a bad kitty?”
“Oh. Yes.” On the phone, Mary Jane looked around, making sure she was on her own. “You know, last night Felicia, when he took you from behind?”
“How could I forget?”
“I thought he was fucking you in the ass. That he was sodomizing you. It… really turned me on.”
***
Mary Jane felt her body burn. Her phone was showing her Felicia’s fingers gently caressing the pink of her sphincter with dripping lubricant. With her other hand, Felicia turned the phone to show Peter rubbing the same over his cock. Then it went back to those thief’s fingers rediscovering the hidden pleasures of her body. Two of Felicia’s digits were up to the second knuckle in her forbidden orifice.
“Jesus…” MJ breathed.
Felicia’s voice shot from the phone’s tiny speakers. “You know, I always liked it when Peter stuck one of his little trackers on my ass to find out where I went. I loved the thought of him watching me. I like you watching me too, Red…”
Mary Jane bit her lip. “Have you ever done this before?”
“In the ass, yes, but never with Peter. Never with someone so big…”
“Oh, stop,” Peter said in the background.
“Wanna see?” Felicia asked.
“Oh, God yes.”
Felicia put the phone on the ground, facing up. Mary Jane could see Felicia on her hands and knees, her parted legs and the lower half of her body. Then Peter came in, his cock wildly erect and glistening wetly. He slowly parted her tightly puckered asshole. Felicia gasped and jerked away reflectively, but Peter had set his palm down on the small of her back—his spider-grip kept her in place. MJ heard a laugh and could just imagine Felicia looking back to smile at Peter for his ingenuity.
Then Mary Jane watched Peter’s hips twitch, applying pressure. Not enough at first, but more came. More, and more, and more, until the tight little opening began to concede. His knob went in first, an inch of bulging flesh, a taste of what was to come.
“Oh God,” Mary Jane found herself moaning. “Fuck her. Shove that big bastard all the way up her ass!”
***
Felicia was almost having second thoughts about taking Peter anally, but the tingling sensation she quickly felt eased her doubts. She’d done anal before, and the pleasure always outweighed the pain. Of course it would be the same with Peter. Or even better. And she really liked having MJ under them, in a sense, looking up at their fucking and loving it.
“Fuck her, Peter!” Mary Jane was gasping, her lust-gnarled face tilted on the phone’s screen. “Fuck her for me!”
Ever willing to satisfy both of his loves, Peter guided another inch of his cock inside Felicia, the cat burglar panting and whining the whole way, in exaggerated pain and obvious pleasure. And a quiet gasp flew from Mary Jane as she saw Peter’s throbbing cock sink into Felicia’s hole as if it were being sucked in.
“Oh God, Peter, look,” Felicia breathed.
Peter looked down at the phone. It no longer showed Mary Jane’s face. The screen was a close-up of her cunt, cunning fingers moving through the softly curling red hair, massaging the pink slit, caressing the little bead of her clitoris, even dipping inside. The heaviness of MJ’s breath was audible even over the phone. As was the wet sound of her pussy being touched.
With a sharp, almost desperate cry, Peter rammed his cock home. He sank into Felicia like a knife through butter, her tight tunnel clinging to his cock, slowing it but not stopping him. Felicia roared in triumph as she took him, all of him, and Peter managed a dazed, incredulous laugh. He’d never felt anything like this before. The heat of it, the feeling of sweaty warm flesh instead of slick pussy, the taboo nature of what they’d accomplished—and while being watched, no less. It was amazing. Spectacular, even.
***
Mary Jane had seen pornographic movies before, but never anything like this. Her body was being dragged along with the orgasmic scene before her, feeling or wishing it could feel everything they felt. Fire rushed through her quivering body as her juice-drenched fingers moved inside her, trying to match the penetration she saw on the phone she was spread-eagled before.
“Oh shit, Peter, fuck her hard!” her voice came out hoarse, painful on her throat. “She’s a whore, she loves being fucked, give her what she loves! Split the bitch open! Fuck her harder!”
***
When Peter finally got all the way inside Felicia’s heavenly ass, he held himself perfectly still, not wanting to do anything to ruin the moment. It seemed insane that he’d forced himself into Cat so brutally and she’d actually enjoyed it. But she was still moaning softly, panting with pleasure, and the feel of her soft warm body quivering deliciously around his cock was no chore for him either.
He closed a hand in Felicia’s beautiful white hair, pulled her head back gently, and lowered his lips to hers to fill her mouth with his tongue, as her hips strained back against his to make sure she had all his cock safely embedded inside herself.
Then Mary Jane shouted her need and Peter knew what he had to do. He slowly pulled out of Felicia, her moaning all the while, Mary Jane wide-eyed at the lubricant glistening on his cock, and then he thrust himself back into her, driving an overjoyed cry out of Felicia. Again he withdrew, paused, and then jammed himself back into her with even more force.
“YES!” Felicia was screaming herself hoarse, making her voice indistinguishable from Mary Jane’s. “I want it! That’s what I want! Fuck me like that! Faster, Spider, faster!”
And miles away, Mary Jane felt vicariously every one of the deep, hard thrusts Peter sent into their shared lover.
Peter actually managed to tear himself away from the sight of Felicia’s ass parted by his cock, the hole stretched wide open by his invasion, and looked up to see their coupling in one of the mirrors Felicia had festooned the room with. The sight of them was a wild pornographic obscenity. Felicia, her negligee ripped down around her waist, helplessly pinned beneath him on all fours with her face lost between agony and bliss. Peter behind her, still wearing his dated suit, the tie loosened, pants around his ankles, the sweat standing out on his brow and staining his shirt. He let go of Felicia’s magnificent hips, snagged the phone with a webline, and hauled it into his hand to point at the mirror.
Now Mary Jane could see Felicia’s half-open mouth in its needing moan, her silver hair tossed about like a hurricane, her mammoth breasts swaying beneath her with each deep thrust she took.
“HOLY SHIT, PETER, LOOK AT HER!” Mary Jane’s voice was that of a wild woman, totally depraved. “SHE FUCKING LOVES IT, PETER! SHE NEEDS IT! GIVE HER WHAT SHE NEEDS, TIGER, FUCK HER LIKE A BITCH IN HEAT!”
Felicia nodded frantically, her own voice shrunken by the exhaustion of the sex. “Yes, yes, Peter, please—“
One hand Peter put on Felicia’s shoulder, to hold her up with his spider-proportionate strength. His other hand shoved the phone into Felicia’s hand and pointed it at the mirror. “Let her see,” he ordered roughly. Then he fucked her.
Just then, Felicia wasn’t the fantasy figure who so often proved his superior in the bedroom, the dom who’d brought about this threesome with him and Mary Jane. She was a quivering mass of flesh, all of it needing his cock, just kneeling there for him to relentlessly fuck his engorged manhood into. With one hand on her shoulder and one on her waist, he actually picked her up and bodily fucked her on his shaft, ramming her up and down on his aching cock until one of them gave into the mounting pleasure.
“Oh God, I almost wish he were fucking your pussy,” Mary Jane’s voice rang out, guttural now. “So when he got home, I could suck his cock and taste your cream on him…”
Felicia yowled, reaching under herself with her free hand to stroke her clit without mercy. Almost immediately, Peter felt a fluid warmth flowing down Felicia’s legs and onto his own. Her asshole contracted with her orgasm; Peter felt sure the tightening vice her tunnel put on his cock would’ve crushed a normal man. With superhuman strength, he broke free of her grinding grip and rammed into her with violent, churning thrusts.
“Fuck yes,” Felicia grated her, her voice going. “Fuck me, hurt me, kill me with your cock, I LOVE IT!”
Peter let her torso drop, gripping her hips with both hands to hold them in place for the rapid drive of his swelling cock deep into her body, over and over again, each punishing shot coming harder and faster. Felicia hung from his body, folded over at the waist, as if he were holding her up by the connection of their loins. Felicia had another orgasm, arms and legs shooting out stiffly like she’d been electrocuted, and her ass once more tightened like a noose on Peter’s cock.
“COME FOR US, BABY!” MJ screamed, her voice filling the room like she was there with him.
“Yessssss,” Felicia drawled, barely audible.
“FILL FELICIA UP FOR BOTH OF US!”
Peter screamed, finally, roaring like a cannon deep inside Felicia’s hotly clenched ass. The white-hot cum filled Felicia to the cusp. His own erupting fluids shot back out of her ass, running over his twitching balls, down his legs, over Felicia’s thighs. Felicia held the phone between her legs to capture the moment and a few drops fell on it. She’d lick them off later.
Peter caught his breath, arms going numb holding Felicia off the ground. From long experience, he knew she’d want him to stay inside her as his cock shrank down, grew limp—finally slipped from her still clinging asshole with a sound like a kiss. Then he gently lowered Felicia to the ground. She laid there on her elbows and knees, ass in the air as if still wanting him to fuck her.
And somewhere in a supply closet, Mary Jane threw her head back against a plaster wall in complete exhaustion, barely aware enough to enjoy the waves of climactic heat that massaged her limp body. She held the phone up to her ear.
“Oh God, you fuckers. Peter, I don’t think I’ve ever been turned on more than I was watching you fuck another woman like that.”
Peter and Felicia’s exhausted, infectious grins were practically audible on her phone. “Does that mean Red would like someone knocking at her backdoor too? Like a baaaad girl?” Felicia asked.
“It means…” MJ checked her watch. “Shit, I’m going to have to sprint through this building if I want to wash up before my audition. Wish me luck!”
“Luck. Love you.”
“Get their names if you want me to blackmail them!” Felicia added.
Mary Jane shoved her phone in her pocket and pulled herself to her feet.
Well, at least she wasn’t nervous anymore.
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The Gwen Stacy Syndrome