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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
A/N: If you're following Ultimacy, some things about this chapter might be a little familiar. By the way, how would y'all feel about me opening a Patreon account? I've noticed a lot of people asking for faster updates, so that might be a good way to work it.
***
Anastasia Tatiana Kravinoff slept with her mother, as usual. Cuddled tight within Sasha’s embrace, like she was back in the womb, Ana was safe from the nightmares that screamed through her weakness. She still dreamed of the training, the animals, the hunts—blood—screams. In reality, she had walked out of the jungle after her five months, a woman, her first blood having come at the appointed time and enough animals slain for meat to grow her body and their pelts to armor her nudity. She had emerged from her trial in patterns of blood and fur, a beast.
In her dreams, she had not left. Her mother had never come to get her.
For the past few weeks, after her return from the other world and their hunt for another Kravinoff to continue the line, her dreams had no longer tortured her. She spent dreamless nights still in her mother’s embrace. But now, her mind returned to that distant world, with its own Kraven still drawing breath and its own Spider-Man, almost her age. A beast-master in his own right, she still shivered with the pleasure of when he had sicced his black beast upon her—its liquid tendrils taking her body, so cruelly, so captivatingly.
She dreamed of him now. Awake, her body as excited as it would be on her hunt, she slipped from her mother’s hold and went to the bathroom, not bothering with a robe to shield her naked body from servants’ eyes. She looked in the mirror and saw the vivid red scratches upon her body, the pinker ones across her groin. She had not sustained them in combat. She had done them to herself, in her pleasure. It was the only thing she could do as the Spider ravaged her. Try to add to, to own, the ecstasy inflicted upon her.
Ana stared at the body the Spider had so harshly used. Her strong thighs were welted from his owning grip. When she turned around, she saw the marks in her proudly fleshed ass where his fingers had embedded in her. Her body kept moving, Ana turning herself this way and that, examining the graffiti on the great structure of her physique.
She felt like a whore who’d serviced a strange-tasted customer, one who was wealthy enough to make it worth her while. He’d left his mark on the merchandise, but she’d made him pay dearly for it. Now she would return to the bordello, strutting her wounded body through her fellow whores, letting them look and know what she’d endured. What she’d enjoyed.
Ana felt guilty, sexual, her pleasure secret and stolen. Her fingers went to her nipples, finding them already erect. She pinched them as hard as she could, filling her chest with a smoky sort of pleasure. Her sex was beginning to moisten; she squeezed her thighs together for a momentary relief. It wasn’t enough.
Brazenly, Ana put her foot up on the porcelain sink that stood alone before the mirror, splaying her pussy, putting her own body on display for her own delight. If she were a whore, she’d have the best body in all the brothel. Not her mother, not the witch Calypso, not anyone else. She’d be the star attraction—men coming from miles to experience her, to offer up fortunes for her, in the hopes that they would please her with their lovemaking and she would spare them… or at least let them taste her before she destroyed them.
The thought occurred to her that there was an Ana Kravinoff who prostituted herself—it was the woman in the mirror. The idea pumped hot breath from her mouth, fogging a spot on the mirror, obscuring her face: the face of a whore. Ana touched her burning nipples to the cold glass, reached down her soft belly and felt the four scratch marks running from her mossy pubic hair to her navel. From when she’d climaxed. Her fingers followed the lines down, to the mound of Venus, the bud of her clitoris. She barely touched herself, but her body thrummed with pleasure, her clitoris became a flower about to bloom.
It only made sense. She wasn’t doing it to herself, she was doing it to the whore, and the whore was doing it to her. With both hands, she reached down and opened up the pink weakness in her golden-tanned armor, her sex nakedly glistening, everything wet, alive, a lascivious garden. Her eyes fluttered like butterfly wings as she touched the fruits of her garden.
Her eyes were almost closed, watching the whore in the mirror through narrow eyelids. She imagined the whore doing this for the Spider, letting him watch her—exciting him—pleasing him. She sunk her fingers into the wet clasp of her need, slippery and tight at the same time, and it felt so good—to saw in and out, to pump her ripe hips in time with her strokes, to see herself, the whore, burn hot and needy with this molten sensation. She wanted a cock, to be fucked, to have a man cum inside her—the words were obscene to her, brutal, ugly words, but that excited her more. She could just see her wild face through the foggy mirror. It was a woman enjoying herself.
Her pleasure became a ripple, then a series of undulations, then a wave that swept through her—she tensed, gasping for breath, falling against the mirror. Her exploding breasts defused by the cool surface, the wave now a flow—whitewater rapids that burst and swelled from her groin. She slipped, her legs spread by the sink basin under her, held far apart by the icy porcelain like a man’s cold body between her thighs as he thrust into her. In the mirror, her eyes showed all-white.
The mirror was amber, it was a portrait, holding her transfixed in time, caught in the moment of her body’s betrayal, the second it degraded itself with pleasure. The whore loved it so much.
Her face was against the glass, but she couldn’t even look at it.
Ana looked down at her own body, seeing it quivering, trembling from the orgasm. Still the whore’s. Still Spider-Man’s. She went to the shower, turned the water as hot as it could go, endured its blistering temperature as she scrubbed herself until her body had healed itself, a uniform bronze once more.
The hunt had begun again.
***
The Spider was attending to an apartment fire in the city. She made the distance quickly, first in a stolen car, then taking to the rooftops, where she found the ample spoor of his weblines, left behind in his carelessness. Foolish beast. How had it taken her family so long to kill him?
She found the last of the webbing, a scent she had learned as intrinsically as her alphabet, and looked around the cityscape. From here, he must’ve crawled or ran—she did not smell the exposed sweat of him changing clothing. He must be around, still in his totemic armor…
Then she heard it, up over her head—her body sung so, it was like she’d been awakened from a conscious sleep, into a hyperreality. She was hearing the squeal of an animal being put to a slaughter. Up over her head, on the crest of a skyscraper.
Ana drew a grappling hook and fired it up to one of the building’s gargoyle, letting the mechanism pull her silently up. She could hear more sounds echoing down, unfamiliar to her, but seeming to be of terror and pleading. Perhaps the Spider was finally showing some bloodlust. Or perhaps he had run into an enemy who was too much for even him. Ana hoped it was a male. Then he would make a most suitable mate.
Ana stopped under the rooftop’s parapet, suspended below and behind a gargoyle, hidden from sight—embracing the demon like a lover, she held herself. Listened. Heard whimpering, a long low moan, shouts of frenzy: “Peter! Peter! Peter!” Then silence.
She heard a man’s voice. Not the boy she had met in the other universe. This was deeper, more confident. “I think that’s filled to capacity. Let’s get it back to Mary Jane while it’s still warm.”
“Oh, no, Spider—“ said in a sultry tone, a woman’s voice. “Not while that cock’s still hard. I’m a professional. I have a reputation to live down to. And I still have room.”
“Alright, Cat, but you’re gonna be the death of me—roll over.”
“It looks like rigor mortis has already set in…”
Ana moved up the gargoyle, as if about to kiss its snarling face, and looked over its head. Her heart leapt into her throat. She recognized the Black Cat, who she had battled once and found a worthy enough foe—for a female. She was naked now, her moonlight hair streaming down onto a rooftop so black it might’ve well have been an extension of the dusk sky, her pale body starlit, churning underneath the Spider. He was taking her—pinning her to the ground, forcing her legs open with his muscular thighs.
Ana couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight. The Spider, her prey, her chosen predator—a figure as close to her as her own totem—fucking a woman. The violence, the ecstasy was that of the hunt. Ana had little knowledge of sex, despite the deeds she had done on behalf of her mother—the notion of enjoying it had only come during her time with the other Spider-Man and his black beast. And though she should’ve been excited to find the Spider so vulnerable, and attack him in his weakness, her curiosity was such that the thought did not even occur to her.
Peter kissed the Cat, his lips on hers soft and warm in contrast to his merciless loins. “Sorry—gotta wrap this up.”
“Oh, come on—can’t the city do without you for an hour or four?”
“Maybe, but MJ can’t. I’m a married man, now, remember.”
“Not yet you’re not!”
Ana watched, horrified, thrilled, as the naked Cat struggled under the unmasked Spider—Peter. The name tasted odd on Ana’s tongue. Was it the same man as the one who had taken her? Who had shamed her, humiliated her, publicly disgraced her? She had sworn vengeance on Spider-Man, and all possible Spider-Men. Peter. It seemed a strange name for her nemesis.
His body rose and fell in powerful bounds between the Cat’s long white legs, separating them even further with each stroke—but it was Ana who felt her loins fill with sweet warmth. Especially when she saw Peter’s cock, eaten greedily by the woman’s splayed cunt. The Cat’s sex was slippery with her own juices, and as Spider-Man fucked speedily into her, he slipped out of her. The Cat moaned in dismay, amusing Peter, who kissed her and held her tight as she struggled valiantly to get it back in.
It was immense, even bigger than his doppelganger’s. The foreskin slipped over the purplish tip, then the head burst forth again like some monstrous serpent crawling from its lair. Ana had no idea how a woman could keep such a huge thing in her belly—how was there room?
Black Cat kneed Spider-Man in the gut, rewarded with an ‘oof!’ of slight pain, and manhandled him back inside her, moaning happily. “Almost lost you,” she teased. Ana could not understand why she wasn’t struggling against being invaded by such a monster, how she seemed to enjoy the thing. “So, is this your bachelor party?”
Peter kept fucking happily into the impossible depths of her sex. “Are you my stripper?”
“I’m drunk enough to be!” The Cat whooped with laughter. “Fuck me like a stripper, baby!”
“Well, which is it, fuck you like a whore or fuck you like a stripper?”
“Just fuck me!”
Ana held her breath as she watched Black Cat be taken with escalating viciousness, the sharpness of a hunt drawing to a close. There was a low gurgle from the Cat’s throat, her ass jerking up against the manhood sunk so deep inside her churning body.
“I’ll be your whore, your stripper—“ Black Cat wailed. “Anything you want me to be!”
“Be my friend!” Peter groaned above her, grinding down into her cunt, his cock beginning to spurt. Ana watched wide-eyed as his cream richly filled her passage, then ran down the valley of her buttocks to fall on the rooftop. The two expired in a drawn-out sigh, lying still joined atop one another.
“Be your friend?” the Cat asked breathlessly.
“You know what I mean.”
“You’re such a dork.”
“I’m aware of that, okay, I wear spandex—well, an unstable molecule facsimile of spandex that is surprisingly fragile…”
“I can’t feel my legs. Mind carrying me home?”
“Sure. But you’re going to have you put on your clothes. I can’t be seen carrying around naked women—“
“You’re no fun.”
Ana continued to watch as the Cat dressed and the Spider put his mask back on. Seeing him in that aspect convinced her it was truly him. Still, she did not engage. As he swung off, the girl upon his back, Ana followed at a discrete distance, ignoring the tingle in her body like the hot blood of a kill splashing across her skin.
***
Atop the Carlyle, the sun hung low over the horizon like a flipped coin about to render its decision. Barbara "Bambi" Modica, Candice "Candi" Muggins, and Miranda "Randi" Couper were soaking up the last rays of the day around a glistening blue-green pool and amidst a collection of swaying palm trees that turned the rooftop into a tropical island. Lying side by side by side, the three could’ve been triplets: they followed the same work-out regime, kept to the same diet, and had almost the same measurements. Once, when they had all weighted in at the same poundage of a hundred and seven, they had thrown a party.
They lay as though dead, luxuriating in each other’s company—the reflection of each one’s physical perfection. Randi’s wide, inviting hips that flared out into Candi’s shapely thighs that became Bambi’s sleekly tapering legs… though all their toes were painted a different color, matching Bambi’s blonde hair, Candi’s brunette, and Randi’s auburn.
They weren’t total mirror images, of course. Each had a different hairstyle, and each wore a different (though no less skimpy) bikini. On a neighboring rooftop, crouched low, Peter and Felicia could see much of their similarities and differences.
“I think Candi’s a natural blonde,” Felicia said, her mask’s goggles extending her sight a thousandfold. “But Bambi sure isn’t…”
Peter elbowed her in the arm. “I know they dye their hair, Cat, they used to be my neighbors in Chelsea. How’d they afford to move into your hotel anyway?”
“They starred on a reality show. Now Bambi has her own clothing line, Randi sells perfume, Candi released a single last year that went platinum—“
“Meanwhile, I invented artificial spider-silk and I have to live as your rent boy,” Peter groused.
Felicia pinched his cheek through the mask. “Poor baby, having to have threesomes with the mean old heiress and his nagging supermodel wife…”
“Point taken. So maybe this is a real—somewhat esoteric—white people problem… not being able to get to the private elevator to your penthouse apartment because of sunbathers. But it is a problem.”
“Don’t worry.” Felicia goosed him. “I’ve got a plan.”
***
“Oh, hi there neighbors,” Felicia said, stepping out in front of the trio. “Didn’t know you guys were getting a tan too.”
Randi, Bambi, and Candi lowered their sunglasses to take in Felicia’s naked body. “We didn’t notice you either. But we sure do now,” Randi said.
The rooftop was big enough that they hadn’t noticed Spider-Man and the Black Cat touch down nearby, or strip off their costumes and web them to the side of the building. They did, however, notice Felicia strutting naked to the elevator, dragging an equally nude Peter along with her.
“Great to see you finally working on your tan,” Randi continued, “but you spilled some lotion on your thigh.”
Felicia wiped it off with her hand. It was quite near her groin. “I let Peter apply it. He just got it everywhere… You’ve met my boyfriend, Peter? He says he used to live next-door to you. Can you believe it?”
“Oh, hi Peter.” Candi batted her eyelashes. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“Or so much of you,” Bambi added.
“Ladies.” Despite Felicia tugging on his arm, somewhat maliciously he thought, Peter kept his hands clasped in front of him. “Sorry to, uh, impose—“
“Oh, we don’t mind,” Randi said. “We’re all friends here. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”
“Not yet, anyway.” Bambi’s eyes were fixed on Peter’s hands. Peter thought distantly that it was a good thing Felicia had insisted on a double-dip. Otherwise, he’d have more of a problem on his hands.
Hey, pun, he thought. Still got it. “It’s great seeing you guys too,” Peter said, wincing inwardly when he realized, given the state of their two-pieces, that counted as a pun too. “Seems like just yesterday I was helping you fix your television.”
“And we were giving you tips on courting that lovely Mary Jane Watson,” Candi said in her wilting Southern accent. “Whatever happened to the two of you, anyway? I hope you still keep in touch.”
“You could say that,” Felicia grinned.
“Well, let me know if you need your TV fixed. Me and Phe here have got to be running along.”
“Actually, there is something you could help us with,” Randi said, on the far left, before flipping over onto her belly.
“Something that could use your delicate hands,” Bambi added, in the middle of the threesome, before rolling over herself.
“Mind doing our backs?” Candi asked finally, turning over herself. Then all three undid their tops.
“Did they choreograph that?” Peter asked Felicia under her breath. Then, louder: “Maybe some other time, Felicia really has to—“
“Oh, nonsense, go and play with your friends. I’ll just go for a quick dip to cool over. It was a very hot evening.” Felicia smiled fiercely, before whispering “C’mon, their backs are turned, they’re not going to see your dangle…”
“I have a girlfriend! Two of them!”
“Peter, this is a bachelor party worthy of the man who I’m having an affair with. Lather those bitches up. Don’t do it for yourself, do it for your gender. Girls like that don’t make this offer to just anyone—you have to have at least one hand…”
***
Ana watched through her binoculars, breathily upset, as Peter poured a little lotion on Randi’s back. She giggled and flinched. “Oh! It’s cold.” But she relaxed as Peter kneaded the sunscreen into her naked skin. “That feels good.”
Why did that upset her, Ana wondered, and not upset Felicia? The thief soaked in the pool, holding onto the cool metal of the ladder, watching with beholden eyes as Peter’s hands glided over another woman’s naked back.
“Do me too,” Bambi said, sharing a look with Randi and smiling. “Can’t you do us both at once, Peter?”
“Sure…” As he continued to rub Randi down with one hand, Peter dutifully squirted onto Bambi’s back with the other and spread the lotion over her shoulders. He stopped at the curve of their buttocks, hands in the small of their backs.
“Hey, come on, Pete,” Bambi complained.
“Do the rest of me,” Randi ordered, wiggling suggestively.
Peter had to think a moment to realize they meant their legs. He used the crook of his elbow to squirt the tube of lotion into his hands, rubbed them together to get his palms nice and gooey, then started with their rounded calves, worked his way up until he was at their full thighs.
Peter hunched over as he felt his cock harden. This was why he was so reluctant to get into a thing with Felicia. It was just like in the comic books, why Batman wouldn’t kill the Joker. As soon as he did, he turned into a serial killer. Now that Peter had done Felicia, he was some kind of sex fiend.
“Hey, what about me?” Candi whined. “Someone do me—I’m burning up!”
“I’ll do it,” Felicia volunteered, climbing out of the pool, a spackle of water hitting the deck. Peter imagined the Botticelli sight of her naked and wet and dared not look. His flag would rise from half-mast to over the pole. He felt more than saw Felicia take the bottle from where he’d set it and squirt a thick trail of lotion from the nape of Candi’s neck to just above her ass. Then he chanced looking over at Felicia’s nimble fingers rubbing the lotion in.
“You’re so tense,” Felicia murmured. “I wish I had my massager with me… you could really use it.”
“That sounds nice,” Candi replied, nestling her face in the crook of her elbow.
With both hands, Felicia slowly rubbed the slippery lotion in, even slicking down Candi’s sides and the outer curve of her breasts. Soon, Candi was breathing quicker than before. Felicia smiled at Peter.
“You had such great skin,” she told Candi, digging under her bottoms, feeling her cheeks mold to her touch. She rubbed a great deal of lotion into Candi’s firm ass.
Candi wiggled almost imperceptibly before spreading her legs behind her. Felicia kneaded the lotion into her inner thighs; Candi gulped. Felicia moved slowly higher, skirting the wiry hair trapped by the crotch of Candi’s thong.
Randi slowly rolled over. When Peter turned away from Felicia, her breasts were pointed in his face. She smiled lazily, his hungry eyes blinking and blinking and never breaking the eye contact she had with him.
“Want us to do you now?” Bambi asked, picking up the suntan lotion.
“No—no! We already got done tanning for the day.” Peter backed up, grabbing Felicia’s wrist and pulling her along. “C’mon, Phe, let’s go. We’ve really gotta do the thing—with the people?”
“Yes. The thing. The people. How could I forget?”
And far in the distance, Ana watched and waited.
She waited while the two got their web-bundle, Felicia simply opening a window and grabbing it from her apartment. Peter checked his e-mail on a laptop, spoke excitedly to Felicia. The two showered. Felicia showed Peter a tuxedo she had bought for him, Peter trying it on to find it fit perfectly, Felicia squeezing herself into a little black dress that Ana found surprisingly elegant for her. Then they were downstairs, jumping into Felicia’s Coupe and driving off.
Ana followed, watched.
***
It happened in something of a blur. Peter remembered joining the Avengers taking longer—he had to listen to a lecture from Cap and get his biometrics scanned (ALL his biometrics) and then at the end he had to play a drinking game with Thor and Tony.

Getting married happened a lot faster. MJ already had a marriage license; technically, they were both supposed to be present for that, but MJ had charmed the county clerk into handing it over, which made Peter worry what she could do if she decided to use her powers for evil.
He had forgotten his driver’s license—it wasn’t like he drove—but Felicia had snagged it for him. Either that, or she had a forgery of his driver’s license lying around.
“What about witnesses?” he asked. “Felicia, you’re one, but we need two—“
“I called someone,” Felicia assured him. “A mutual friend.”
“HEY, PUNY PARKER!”
Peter shut his eyes. “No way…”
“What’s wrong?” Mary Jane asked, looking sleek in a white gown she must’ve been holding onto forever. “I thought you two buried the hatchet.”
“We did, it’s just—“
Flash Thompson stayed at the end of the courthouse, hands raised in the air. “FINALLY TYING THE KNOT, TAKING THIS ONE OFF THE MARKET, AND NOT A MOMENT TOO SOON! I DIDN’T SEE THE SEVEN-YEAR ENGAGEMENT, BUT IT MUST’VE BEEN ABOUT YOU TWO!”
Peter talked fast. “Well, after the Green Goblin put him in a coma, he woke up with amnesia and thought he still hated me.”
“Yeah, I was there for that,” Mary Jane said. “Didn’t he get better?”
“Yeah, but then he lost his legs in Iraq, which—”
“He has his legs,” Felicia said.
“What, really?” Peter turned around.
Flash had legs.
“Flash, you look good!” Peter said. “Put on some weight, I notice…”
“Yeah, the legs? Don’t worry about it, we’re fine.”
“’We’?”
“Alright, who wants to get married?” the magistrate asked, coming out of his office.
Peter, Mary Jane, and Flash raised their hands.
They looked at Flash. “I thought he meant rhetorically—I mean, you know, some day—“
The rest went by even faster. They filled out some paperwork, paid some fees that Peter found shockingly expensive, and signed some papers. Then it was all over but the kissing.
“So hey,” Flash said to Felicia, “in the mood for an afterparty? We know a great place down south…”
“Actually, I’m going with them,” Felicia said, nodding to the Parkers. Peter was still taking advantage of his permission to kiss the bride.
“Your ex-boyfriend?” Flask asked.
“Yeah.”
“And his new wife.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They’re going on their honeymoon.”
“That’s correct.”
“What are you going to do on their honeymoon?”
“I’m their witness,” Felicia said. “I take my job very seriously.”
***
Felicia drove, Peter and Mary Jane in the backseat. She’d tackled Peter onto the cushions, and laid on top of him as he lazily massaged her, not wanting to give Felicia too much of a distraction.
“I can’t believe it,” Mary Jane moaned, “I finally get married and I have to jet off to England to shoot a movie for weeks. I barely get a honeymoon—“
“The Parker luck,” Peter told her. “Now that you’re part of the family, you have to get used to it.”
MJ kissed his chin. “Tell me to stay. I will blow it off, I’ll stay right here with you and play wifey, I don’t care—“
“No, you’ve gotta go. You said it yourself, it’s the be-all and end-all of opportunities. You supported me joining the Avengers, remember? That took me away from home a lot.”
“I got to move in with you,” Mary Jane pointed out. “It’s not the same.”
“Yeah, well, once me and Earth’s Mightiest Heroes got zapped into a time warp for a year. It was only three hours on the outside, but inside—“
“Wait.” Felicia took her eyes off the road. “You didn’t fuck anyone for a year? Is this a sore subject?”
“I stayed faithful. Yeah, it got lonely--”
Felicia briefly looked at the road again to avert a collision. “Was Spider-Woman there? You should’ve fucked her.”
“MJ and I were—“
“No, you definitely should’ve,” Mary Jane agreed.

***
At the end of it all, they just collapsed into bed. Peter didn’t feel the need to undress Mary Jane, be all over her. More and more, he just wanted to be in this moment, to let it arrive, mark its passage, watch it go, knowing there’d be another like it, and another, and another. He wondered what to call that feeling. Happiness? Contentment?
“We are going to have a real wedding though,” he promised them. “I have some blackmail material on Tony, we’ll get a big church and a cute flower girl—one of those big wedding cakes.”
“After I get back from the shoot,” Mary Jane agreed.
“Which is when we move MJ in with us,” Felicia added, elbowing Peter. “And then, when we’re officially married—in-front-of-Aunt-May-married—and we’re all living together, we talk to Peter about pegging.”
“What’s pegging?” Peter asked.
Mary Jane patted him on the stomach. “Let it be a surprise.”
“Dibs on being the maid of honor,” Felicia said. “And organizing the official bachelor party. I’m thinking—gouts of flame—shooting into the air—“
“An outdoor bachelor party?” Peter asked.
“No, it’ll be indoors. Just slightly on fire.” Felicia jumped up from the bed. “Well, it’s your wedding night—technically—“
“Legally,” Peter corrected.
“So I am going to leave you two lovebirds alone.” Felicia went to the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”
“Felicia, you can stay,” Mary Jane offered.
“No, no—this isn’t always about the three of us. Sometimes it’s about me and you, or me and Peter, or the two of you. That’s fine. That’s healthy. In the long run, we’ll always end up together—some way. Besides, my pussy’s sore and you two are just going to talk a bunch of lovey-dovey shit anyway.”
The door shut behind her.
“She has a way with words,” Mary Jane said.
“Yeah.” Peter looked at the wedding band on his finger. “Feels like it’s about time, doesn’t it? Like we should’ve had these a long time ago.”
“We have them now. And we have Felicia, so it all worked out alright in the end. I do—kinda wish it had happened for us sooner.”
Peter kissed her hand.
Mary Jane went on. “Because it feels a little like I cheated on you? I know we were broken up, we were both cool with breaking up, but I wanted what we had back and I kept looking for it with other men, while you—you just mooned over me. That’s kinda romantic, when you think about it. Very Nicholas Sparks.”
“First off, ‘kinda romantic’ and ‘very Nicholas Sparks’ is a contradiction in terms.” Peter pulled her close. “Second, I don’t care if you had sex with half the Toronto Maple Leafs. You’re with me now, that’s what I care about. Whatever you did without me, I have no right to judge.”
“It was a lot of guys, though,” Mary Jane said. “Like, to use your Maple Leafs example—it wouldn’t have been half the Maple Leafs.”
“What, three-fourths?”
“No.”
“Five-sixths?”
“No.”
“All of them?”
“Not all of them, I’m not some slut—I wouldn’t do the unattractive ones, not unless they had great personalities.”
“But they’re all attractive,” Peter argued.
“Yes, I know, that’s why I’m doing them. But if one of them was mean to dogs or didn’t tip his waiter, I wouldn’t fuck them.”
“Oh, okay. That makes sense. So, metaphorically, you’ve fucked most of the Toronto Maple Leafs.”
“Yeah.” Mary Jane nodded. “But none of them were as good as you, though.”
“That comes off a little patronizing.”
“Well, God, Peter, I’m telling you you’re a better fuck than most of a hockey team, what more do you want from me?”
“Sorry, sorry, you’re right. It’s very flattering. But, you should know, I wasn’t some nun or something. I got busy.”
Mary Jane twisted on top of him, resting her chin on his sternum. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. There were plenty of women.”
“Don’t say Carlie Cooper—“
“Not just Carlie Cooper! Like—let’s see—the Chameleon pretended to be me and kissed my roommate, so then when I came back, we were dating for a while.”
“Uh-huh,” Mary Jane nodded blankly.
“And when Dr. Octopus was in my body, he dated a midget.”
“Oh. Is that the politically correct term?”
“I don’t even know. What else—uhh—geez… I know there was someone else.”
“Carlie Cooper?”
“Not Carlie Cooper—“
“You didn’t…” Mary Jane paused. “You didn’t date one of Gwen’s clones, did you?”
“No!”
“Or her artificially aged daughter?”
“No, c’mon, MJ—“
“See, now I feel bad.” Mary Jane sat up. “It’s like The Odyssey. You’re Penelope, being faithful, repelling suitors, meanwhile I’m Ulysses, sailing around, railing everyone…”
“Alright, points for the mythology reference, but I don’t see—“
“It’s my wedding night and I fucked Darcy Lewis!” She thudded her head into Peter’s shoulder. “God, I can’t believe I said that. I didn’t mean to lay this on you tonight…”
“What are you talking about?”
“Distracting Darcy—in the club? I was all worked up with the booze and you and Felicia and the dancing, and I had to distract her, I just meant to, you know, fool around a little bit, but she was so hot—“
“She is really hot.”
“I just… I mean, stuff happened. I just asked to marry you and stuff happened.”
“MJ, it’s fine. We’re fine. I’m not jealous. We never said anything about being in an exclusive relationship. We’re—we’re regularly having threesomes with Felicia Hardy. We’re not going to be some old-fashioned couple, you know?”
Mary Jane wiped a tear away. “But you want—you don’t want—to be in some sort of open relationship?”
“I don’t know. Usually I research these things more—I know I want you to be happy, I want Felicia to be happy. I don’t really care who it is that makes you happy. You wouldn’t get jealous if Felicia went off and schtupped someone else, would you?”
“She doesn’t want to. I don’t want to. We love you, Peter. It’s just that sometimes…”
Peter pulled her into his lap. “MJ, listen: we’re adrenaline junkies. We all lead these high-speed lifestyles, running around… ninety-nine percent of the time, I don’t want to be with anyone else. But maybe, when that one percent comes around; what does it prove for us to resist temptation?”
“So—“ Mary Jane paused, as if asking Peter to intercede, stop her from saying what she would say, “open relationship?”
“Same deal we have with Felicia.”
“If the urge strikes…”
“Which it usually doesn’t…”
“And we’re open and honest about it…”
“And no one gets hurt…”
“Because it kinda turns me on,” Mary Jane closed her eyes, wincing, “thinking about you with some other woman. Like when I saw you with Felicia?”
“Yeah?” Peter rested his hand on her leg. It felt warm.
“Does it turn you on—thinking of me and Darcy?”
“A bit… maybe you could tell me a little more about it?”
“Maybe you could do something we haven’t done before?”
“Such as?”
Mary Jane crawled off him, arms and legs, until she was facing away from him, her ass in the air. “It’s my wedding night—I should lose some kind of virginity.”
“I think Felicia left some lube around here somewhere.”
“Top drawer!” Felicia said outside the door.
Mary Jane shook her head. “Such a voyeur.”
“Look who’s talking, Red! Pretend I’m not even here!”
“You don’t wanna watch?” Peter called. He had the K-Y.
“It’s hotter just listening.”
Peter had Mary Jane’s dress unzipped; in a moment, she was in her lingerie. Stockings, but no panties. He laved her asshole, his cock with the lube. Mary Jane moaned as he fingered her asshole, loosening up the tight ring.
“I still feel really guilty over—ooh!—all the other guys I dated while you were playing Batman.”
“I did it with Felicia.”
“It was great!” Felicia said through the closed door.
Mary Jane was adamant. “It would just make me feel better if, while I was gone, I knew that you were having your needs satisfied. And, you know, that the scores were evened a little. Put it in me, tiger, your finger’s really got me craving it.”
Peter knelt behind her wiggling ass, grabbed her hips, shoved himself forward until his cockhead was at her asshole. “I have Felicia. Have you seen her? What more could a guy want?”
“Well, that’s a little racist.” Mary Jane groaned as she felt his tip being forced into her tight hole. “I mean, we’re both white, so in some total male harem fantasy, shouldn’t you have, like, a black girl and an Asian girl and stuff? All things being equal?” Peter’s knob jabbed past her opening, fucking into her a few easy inches. Another moan worked its way between MJ’s lips.
“You want me to mess around on you? With minorities?” Peter worked himself a little deeper into Mary Jane.
“Not minorities specifically!” Mary Jane strained, her elbows on the bed, her forearms swung backward to rub at her hanging breasts. “There are a lot of girls who’d love to take you to bed—just—give ‘em what they want!” Keeping one hand at her cleavage, Mary Jane reached down to her groin and gave her turgid clit the sweet relief of pressure.
Peter moaned as Mary Jane pumped her hips with the shallow fucking of his cock into her ass. “What if I just want you? And Felicia?” He sped up slightly. “Your sweet ass…”
“That’s really sweet!” Mary Jane cried, her hips keeping pace with him, her fingers digging deeper into her breast. “But like I said, I like the thought of you fucking around on me! It would make me feel a lot better!” She felt her orgasm close by, ready to leap into her, and rubbed her clit faster.
“I suppose—if it’s okay with Felicia—“ Peter quickened, Mary Jane’s ass now easily taking his speeding cock.
“I love the idea!” Felicia moaned outside, clearly masturbating.
Mary Jane’s cunt and asshole were both contracting. “Faster, Peter! Ream the hell out of me!”
Peter felt the hard slap of her asscheeks against his belly, Mary Jane matching his speed. He grunted heavily. “I’m gonna come!”
“Yes, let me have it, hubby!” MJ screamed, yanking at her breast, rubbing her engorged clit. “I’m gonna set you up with some friends of mine—girls I know can take of you!”
“Then I’ll fuck ‘em!” Peter agreed, his cock jerking. “Just—like—!” White-jot cum exploded from him, spilling out into Mary Jane. He had no control of his body—it was all locked together to deliver his orgasm. His prick was sealed inside Mary Jane’s ass, soft, hot, clutching flesh all around it. He spurted again—“Ah!”—and again—“Yes!”
Peter laughed with desperate relief as he fired off darts of his cum deep inside MJ, the redhead jerking and moaning with each gush she took. Her whole body throbbed, pulling his seed into her, drawing it away from him.
“Just like that, just like that,” MJ cried, squirming. “Make them cum just like that…” She screamed like a wounded animal as he drove himself into the tightest part of her ass for the finish.
“Yes, dear,” Peter grunted, feeling like he had a gallon of jizz to pump into his bride, hugging himself to the girl until his orgasm tapered and finished. He sank, crippled, atop her soft body, relishing the feel of his shaft cradled in her tight hole, bathed in his own seed.
Then he pulled out of her, off her, and laid back on the pillows. Mary Jane found just enough energy to throw herself atop his chest, like a drowning woman onto a piece of driftwood. She felt him still oozing inside her ass.
“Hey Cat,” Peter called. “Dinner is served.”
The door opened. Felicia had taken the opportunity to undress. Her wide eyes looked from Peter’s slimy cock to Mary Jane’s opened ass. “I don’t know where to start—everything looks so good…”
In the air vent, Ana watched as she had watched Peter sodomize his wife, listened as she had listened to the wailing cry from the redhead that she felt certain had to be of terrible agony. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought everyone in the building could hear it. She pressed her fists to her breasts as if that could dull the thudding sound she heard.
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The Gwen Stacy Syndrome