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Narrowing his eyes against the sunlight glaring off the white door, Miles Morales pressed the doorbell. The glare kept stabbing at his eyes, so he turned away and glanced around the house’s front porch. Wooden columns supported the porch roof, reminding him a little bit of a Greek temple, which maybe accounted for how imposing the silence was inside the house—nothing stirring at all.

Where was Felicia? She had to be home—he was going to go crazy if she wasn’t. He rang the doorbell again, hearing that the bell was working from the echoing chimes inside the house. There was no answer. Miles sat down on the steps to the porch to wait. The sunbaked concrete warmed his buttocks, the heated sensation sending flaring signals to his receptive manhood. All of a sudden Miles was half-hard. 

He looked around the yard, trying to distract himself from his own hardness. It looked a lot like his yard. Spruce trees lined the sidewalk, shielding the house from his street. There was flowerbeds thick with roses; his mom grew tulips. A blue-breasted bird with shiny black plumage was perched on a birdbath, darting its beak at the water. The day was summery and warm, with florid scents in the air and plenty of birdsong. Miles imagined himself all Andy Griffith, lolling besides a river, fishing pole at his bare feet, soft grass all up and down him. He lay back on the porch, settled his hands behind his head, and stretched out sensuously.

Maybe he could take Felicia fishing some time. He knew a spot in Central Park along the river where a thicket of willows and cottonwoods would hide them from sight. They’d be all alone. They could go skinny-dipping. Felicia wasn’t shy; she’d have no objection to stripping naked for a swim. And after, when they climbed out of the water, he could lay her on the grass and fuck her. Shit, the thought of it was so good that he wanted to jack off right now.

His member felt like a length of rebar jutting out of his pants. It’d been that way all day, just getting longer and harder whenever he thought of Felicia. It’d been that way last night too; after fucking Felicia, Miles didn’t know if it would ever go down again. If he could find a way to fuck Felicia forever, he’d be the happiest man on Earth.

He rubbed through his jeans and into his groins. Where the hell was she? He’d been waiting to see her all throughout school. And despite the unbearable stiffness coming and going at the drop of a hat, he hadn’t jacked off. He was saving all his fucking for Felicia. Besides, after having a taste of her, jacking off just seemed like a waste. His hand could never match that hot, hungry cunt. He needed it, her, so fucking bad.

“Let me guess: special delivery?”

Startled, Miles’s eyelids snapped open like the starting gates at a race. The sun blinded him as he squinted at the voice. “Felicia?”

“Not without a lot of padding.” The woman stepped out of the sun’s glare. Miles recognized Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker’s wife. She didn’t have Felicia’s abundant cleavage, but she had so much of everything else that she hardly needed it. Her breasts were full and large, suffering only in comparison to the Black Cat, and her body was long and lean, with legs that stretched on inches past where Felicia’s quit. Maybe that was why the Cat wore high-heeled boots.

Miles sat up, pulling his backpack into his lap to hide his erection. He hoped that Mary Jane hadn’t noticed; he felt his forehead suddenly bristling with sweat.

Mary Jane leaned toward him, holding out her hand. “It’s been a while since you stopped by. Are you here for Peter?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Miles shook hands with her; she had a strong grip for a woman and she didn’t let go until helping him up to his feet. “Peter wanted me to check in on you while he was away on… business. Make sure you’re okay, see if you need protection, all a’ that.”

“How sweet,” Mary Jane said. “Come on inside. Let’s see if we can’t find you something to eat before you leave.”

“I thought Felicia lived here,” Miles said. “She was here yesterday.”

Mary Jane unlocked the door. She put her hand on the small of Miles’s back and walked him inside. “She comes over sometimes; Peter lets her keep some of her things here. I didn’t know she’d been here recently. I was out all day yesterday. Why? Was she here?”

“You could say that,” Miles said. He started to pull away. “Do you know where she lives?”

“I don’t care to know. She comes and goes as she pleases. Tell me about yourself, Miles. I’ll just change into something more comfortable.”

Miles recognized the bedroom she’d dragged him into, the curtained canopy and the satiny pink bedspread. He’d thought it was Felicia’s, though seeing it now in the daytime, with pink lace curtains hung in the windows to dye the sunlight a lavender tint, he thought it wouldn’t suit her much. 

Miles sat on Mary Jane’s bed as the redhead changed clothes in the bathroom. He considered slipping away while she was occupied, but he couldn’t do that to Mary Jane; he really had promised Peter he would look in on her.

She’d asked him to tell her about himself, but she kept talking incessantly about this and that while she was changing. Suddenly she poked her face past the doorframe to look at him. “Miles, do me a favor? Get my pink bikini out of the top drawer on the bureau.”

Miles went to do as he asked, rummaging around in the drawer until he’d found a pink one. There were a dozen other bikini tops and twice that many panties, of all colors and styles. The pink bikini top seemed like the smallest; he didn’t know how Mary Jane would fit her C-cups into those same cups. Without a word, he passed the bikini set into the bathroom.

“Thanks. And put these in the hamper by the closet?” She handed him the clothes she had just taken off. Jeans, a white blouse, black panties, and no bra. Miles obligingly took them.

The jeans and blouse he dropped into the hamper. The panties he paused with, inspecting them. The crotch was damp and smelled faintly. His prick, which had been softening during his awkward conversation, now solidified as his hands trembled. Goddamn, he thought, her cunt had to be as wet as Felicia’s had been. Even just holding her panties in his hand, he could smell them with a strong flaring of his nostrils. The scent went to his head like strong liquor, and he swayed dizzily in place, knees weak, prick feeling so tender that he knew one touch and he would come.

Mary Jane called from inside the bathroom, “Okay, I’m ready. Please hold your applause…”

Miles’s heart stopped beating. He threw the panties down into the hamper, turning around to face Mary Jane and instinctively trying to hide the hamper behind his body. Then he realized his cock was shamefully hard and he interlaced his fingers in front of his groin, turning slightly to the side in hopes it would be less obvious.

Mary Jane came out of the bathroom. She was next to naked, her bikini covering only the straight-up NC-17, leaving her definitely R-rated. Ginger pubic hairs ran over the waistband of her pink panties, while her top was two tiny triangles of fabric stretched thin along the peaks of her breasts, covering the nipples but leaving the contours of her cleavage entirely bare. She might as well have just slapped on two pasties like a burlesque dancer, then wrapped a pink ribbon around her hips. It would’ve covered just as much. 

But, even if she were wearing a burqa, the hot gleam in her eyes couldn’t be hidden, and that made her look even sexier than Felicia had. It was like she was planning on eating him alive…

Miles found himself trembling so hard he might’ve been having a seizure. He tensed all his muscles, trying to control himself, but he only shook harder. His flushed face felt like it was burning up. He had never felt so horny, so ashamed and so horny, in all his life. He just hoped he wouldn’t come in his pants without even being touched.

“Well?” Mary Jane asked. “What do you think?”

The SmartTV mounted in front of the bed gave a trilling noise and Miles, spying the remote lying on the bedspread, gratefully scooped it up and pressed the power button. “Hey, someone sent you an e-mail! Maybe it’s Peter!”

He had no idea how right he was.