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Eyes bigger than her stomach, that was Felicia’s problem. She didn’t just bite the forbidden fruit, she went back for seconds. That was fine, that was who she was—but if it wasn’t, she probably could’ve given up the cat burglar life. Beat Mary Jane to the altar, gone legit, maybe made Avengers by now. At least Defender. But then, she wouldn’t be Felicia Hardy.

So, with some rueful admonition, Felicia resolved herself to going back to Casa Parker. She knew it was a mistake. A fun mistake, but still a mistake. The threesome was supposed to be a one-time thing. Being Peter’s bitch was supposed to be a closed chapter in her life. But the thought that Peter and Mary Jane were playing more fun games without her—it was as goddamn tempting as the Hope Diamond being on display. She just had to see for herself. Maybe she could look without touching.

Yeah, right.

What she heard when she landed on the wall of the Parkers’ apartment quickly put the lie to any notion she’d be respecting their privacy: “Come on, tiger, strip. It’s so frustrating that you still have clothes on.”

“Yeah? What about your clothes?” Peter groaned, Felicia hearing the lust in his voice as she craned her neck to hear more. Thank God the man was so poor—if these walls were any thicker, it’d be no fun at all.

“Let’s leave them on for now. If I didn’t like being frustrated a little, I wouldn’t have married you.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good kitty.”

“Sorry, master. Maybe you should punish me.”

Felicia bit her lip. What the hell were they doing in there? She was sure that all the slave/bitch/master stuff was her thing, hers and Peter’s… there was no way Mary Jane could be into it. Except for what she’d seen in that threesome.

Seeing how much Felicia was enjoying herself, being the Slave Bitch, how could she not want to try it herself? Felicia might not’ve thought much of MJ, but she knew the woman was no dummy. And—since Felicia had put the idea in her head—she felt entitled to get a good, long look at it. After all, she’d let Mary Jane watch her be dominated. Hell, she’d let Mary Jane smack her around with a spatula. The redhead couldn’t possibly gainsay her a little peek, could she?

Creeping with all her strength along the brick wall, her claws shockingly gentle in how they drilled into the masonry to hold up her body weight, Felicia brought herself to a window. She rested one foot on the sill, anchoring a hand on the architrave at the top of the window. With her weight thus comfortably distributed, she tilted her head to the side until she could see through the glass. From the sounds of it, she doubted Peter and Mary Jane would be paying any attention to the view.

She was right. Oh shit, was she ever right. Peter was shucking off his clothes with an eager grin—his big, fat cock was already naked, pointing straight out at Mary Jane. And Mary Jane… Christ… she was wearing a catsuit, every inch the equal of the one Felicia was currently wearing. Felicia would’ve been pissed at the little homage, except that MJ looked great in it, the cunt.

She looked even better out of it, the zipper pulled down to her pubis, stretching the already plunging neckline Felicia favored into a wide vee that unveiled both her breasts and her red-hot cunt. Sure, it might’ve just been the color of her pubic hair, but Felicia still leaned forward so far at the sight of Mary Jane, and Peter, and Peter and MJ, that she bumped her head on the window glass.

Thankfully, neither of them heard her. For once, Peter’s big mouth was coming in handy, because right at that moment, he said “Hey, beautiful, I think it’s about time we christen this new couch.”

“Past time,” Mary Jane sighed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and, growling, pulled her down onto the virgin furniture. “Master needs to make more time for his kitty. There’s whole rooms we haven’t gotten to yet.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter moved his hand between Mary Jane’s legs, under the open catsuit, fingers prying at her cuntlips. He stirred up her cream as he sought out her clit. “I know we’re spending a helluva lot on this place, but not so much that there’s more than one bedroom and one bath.”

“What about the ceilings?” Mary Jane retorted. “What about the walls?”

“Get a White Queen costume,” Peter told her. “I’ll fuck you to the roof.”

Maybe I should talk with a fake British accent, Felicia thought.

“I’ll settle for outside the window.” Mary Jane licked her lips. “We may not have a balcony, but everything between 7-A and 7-C counts as ours. Indoors and out.”

“Work, work, work,” Peter griped playfully. “That’s all I’m good for…”

Mary Jane’s clit popped up from the hood, hard and pink, swelling demandingly against Peter’s fingers. He flicked a fingernail over it, Mary Jane gasping, the sound turning into a moan as Peter lowered his head into her ample cleavage. His teeth bit hard into one of her firm, round breasts.

“Ohhhhh, but you’re so good for it…” she groaned, reaching down to grip his manhood and give it a stiff squeeze. Obviously, this reinvigorated Peter, as his jaws tightened on her plump breast and Mary Jane moaned anew, her head drifting back, eyes crossed.

Felicia shied back from the window glass, afraid of being seen, but was unable to completely withdraw. Half of her face stayed out in the open, one eye watching with a sense of pride. Peter might’ve been fucking his wife, but he wasn’t not fucking the Black Cat. She was a part of this, that costume, her submission—the Parkers wanted her there, whether they knew it or not. And it turned the cat burglar on beyond belief.

She was moderately risking her life, balancing both feet—more like all ten toes—on the edge of the sill, using her hands to rub at her breasts, her pussy—stroking her moistening folds through her catsuit. Part of her wanted to follow suit with Mary Jane, draw her zipper down, expose herself as she pleased her cunt, touch bare flesh with her glove… after so many nights with Spider-Man, she associated the touch of a gloved hand with being fucked by him. It would make her feel like she and the redhead were making a Spider Sandwich all over again.

But if she really wanted that, she would’ve opened the window and went in. Part of her appreciated that while she’d done that before, this was brand-new—taboo—naughty. Keeping her clothes on made it nastier. She was being bad. Punishment would come, but for now, she would unabashedly sin.

Peter dipped two fingers into Mary Jane’s pussy, caressing her inner walls, arousing her half out of her mind. “Mmmmmphh!” Mary Jane groaned, mouth yawning open, her tongue flapping in the air as she acted out some impulse she’d like to play, but presently wasn’t able to.

Felicia wondered if she was wishing that a certain cat burglar were there to sit on her face while Peter made use of her tits and cunt.

Mary Jane ringed her thumb and forefinger, then slipped them over Peter’s burgeoning cockhead. The rest of her fingers followed suit, wrapping around his shaft, before she pumped them up and down his trembling length.

“Ohhh, SHIT!” Peter groaned, struggling not to come, while Felicia wished he would. She rubbed her pussy frantically, feeling her horny little clit jump between her constricting suit and the warm flesh of her groin, and she wished Peter would come all over Mary Jane and her dirty whore costume, her costume to be a dirty whore just like Felicia.

And then she wanted to see them fuck.

Mary Jane moaned with submissive pleasure, feeling her husband’s fingers fuck deeper and deeper into her sex. Finally, they moved in and didn’t come out. Peter curled them, then traced a slow, erotic line from the depths of her pussy to the stingingly hard button at the top of her slit. He pressed the pad of one finger against her small, tight clit and twisted it left and right, grinding the little nub against her pubic bone.

“Hhhnnngh!” Mary Jane moaned, turning her head to bit the ermine collar of her costume while the sensitive tissue of her clit flared hotly against Peter’s turning finger.

Her body writhed from side to side as Peter embraced her, her full tits flattening against his muscular chest, his mouth claiming hers to finish her slavish possession. It all felt and tasted delicious—the lewd sensation of his tongue shooting into her mouth, his chest burning against hers, his cock throbbing in her hand. She had no choice but to explode in orgasm, wet and exuberant and oh so forceful.

“Oh fuck,” Felicia whispered under her breath, still rubbing her wet cunt. Now she wanted to reach into her costume, to touch it directly, but she couldn’t bear to stop fondling herself long enough to adjust her catsuit.

Seeing Peter and Mary Jane fuck was even more exciting than she’d thought it would be—a nasty, naughty thrill just as sexy, in its own way, as joining in for a threesome. She saw Mary Jane squirt—actually squirt—her juices splashing Peter’s hand and gleaming on her own leather clad thigh.

Look at her get off! I didn’t know she had it in her! Felicia smiled at her own little joke, then finally marshalled the will to unzip her costume, reach down between her legs, and stroke her tortured clit with nothing in the way but her gloved hand. The feel of vinyl on her clitoris made her think of Peter’s gloved fingers, him petting her cunt with one hand while making Mary Jane squirt with the other.

Oh fuck, maybe this isn’t as good as another Spider Sandwich. Maybe I just can’t stand to stop long enough to beg and cajole and get them to let me be their Slave Bitch again. But I put off touching my clit too—who knows how long I’ll be able to go without that hard cock, that wet pussy… maybe if I just walk in there and start fucking, they won’t question it. They’ll only make me come.

Despite her orgasm, Mary Jane seemed just as unsatisfied, just as passionate—just as much a slut—as Felicia felt. She pushed Peter back, onto his feet, and then flopped down flat on her back, splaying herself on the couch like a virgin sacrifice on a bloody altar.

“Fuck me now, Peter! Give it to me right now!”

God, yes, Spider, fuck her! Fuck your Slave Bitch! Felicia silently screamed, still rubbing her aching little clit. She felt like she was going to squirt too. If she did—if she dirtied her own costume that way—she’d just have to take it off. Take it off and get even dirtier…

Peter slid on top of Mary Jane, her hands reaching out to him, stroking their way down his body as he mounted her until they were at his fat cock, gripping it tightly, guiding it to her ready cunt.

“Ohh, yeah,” Peter groaned, slipping easily into her hot sheath. “That’s a good Slave Bitch… be a good kitty for your master and take this cock!”

Mary Jane could only simper as he eased his way slowly inside of her, taking up all of her horny cunt, until the redhead’s eyes rolled back in her head, her skull itself flopping back, body arched as though she were thrusting her cunt up to his loins, further offering herself to his pleasure. She seemed overcome with supplication to him and Felicia loved the sight of it. It felt like she was seeing herself—her own submissive, Slave Bitch self—being conquered by Peter.

The memory of how it felt to be mastered by him swelled in her as she saw how hot it lookedtoo. Eyes locked on the unsuspecting couple, Felicia thrust a stiffened finger all the way into her cunt, still strumming her clitoris with her thumb.

Peter fucked the full length of his girthy erection in and out of his wife’s soaked pussy, and as she took it, he leaned down and licked the sweat from her contorted face, actually tasting how overwhelmed she was by his cock and its demands on her.

“Unnhh, yesss, Peter, YES!” Mary Jane hissed between clenched teeth, her hips roiling and bucking—Felicia could only imagine what those strong inner muscles of her were doing in their attempt to satisfy the hard member inside her.

Coiling a fist in her crimson hair, Peter jerked her head back, forcing her again into the bent position she’d been forced into by his first entry. With her head thrust back, her chest shot upward, and he buried his face in her cleavage, rubbing and rutting into her sweaty flesh until his lips found a stiff nipple to collar.

He sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, trying to get as much of her silken breast in as he could. All the while, his loins ground obscenely between Mary Jane’s legs, hipbone against hipbone, his cock deeply hilted in her sex.

“Mmm, you’re fucking me so good, Master, keep going, use me good and hard! That’s what I’m here for!” Mary Jane cried, thrusting her hips up, giving his plunging cock all the sheath it could ever ask for.

Her arms closed around Peter’s neck and she threw her head back, slamming it against the sofa cushion in a cascade of brilliant red tresses. She moaned with pleasure, legs kicking as her husband’s big cock continued riding into her seething hot pussy.

“Your little pussy is so hot… hot and tight… turning me on so much… God, you sexy little bitch… you should be afraid of making my cock this hard!” Peter growled, so turned on he worried this first fuck on the couch would be its last. It wouldn’t be the first bit of furnishing sacrificed to their sex life.

Chuckling at that thought—at how lucky he was to have such a perfect wife, and only getting more perfect with every year they were together—Peter stroked into her harder, deeper, his hands down at her hips, fingers tearing into her quivering ass, harshly scratching and squeezing the juicy flesh of her buttocks.

He wanted to pump his load right into her hot little cunt. And he wanted to make her come. He wanted Mary Jane to writhe and scream and scratch and curse and shut her eyes and pound her cunt so hard to his prick that it would be almost as much pain as pleasure. Not that anything could make fucking her feel less than exquisite.