SSSS update (Patreon)

So he’d looked. He hadn’t wanted to be a pervert about it. And he’d kissed her, because she’d known what she was doing, looking like that and putting herself in arm’s reach of him and making it perfectly obvious what she was expecting to happen next, what she’d wanted to happen. He had wanted to kiss her so bad before he’d actually done it, he hadn’t even been looking at her really, but he knew she was beautiful and the sex of her was like pea soup mist all around him and he had wanted her and wanted her and wanted her before finally having a little of her, just a taste, just a snitch of what was so transparently offered.

But all they’d done was kiss. At first.

Of course, we’ve also heard a few things about Peter and Mary Jane Watson. Is Peter two-timing Emma or is Mary Jane just a beard for the label? Not that Peter’s gay—clearly anyone working as a pop star is all man—but you’ve gotta think your average record executive wouldn’t be too hip about their new golden boy dating a mutant. It’s not like Peter’s a rapper or anything?

Mary Jane Watson? No, no, Emma—how could there be anyone but Emma? She was so beautiful and the kiss was so intoxicating, like he was inhaling from an opium pipe, like he was sipping something hot and delicious after being out in the cold for hours. He’d seen her naked, but there was something even better about stripping her nude, taking off every shred of clothing and knowing he was seeing what he was seeing because of him, she was naked because of him. That nakedness was his and all he had to do was take it, take her, she wanted to be his and he wanted to be hers, it was crazy, it was insane, it was a drug high he needed to ride out, just being with her and loving her so much and needing her more than he could ever have her, but trying to sate that need anyway. He needed gallons of her, miles of her, all of her.

“Emma can have any man she wants,” an old cellmate said. “So it’s not just that Peter likes bad girls, it’s that Emma likes bad boys. She’s not the first Hellfire Clubber who’s let Peter in the backdoor, and all of them talk about how big his dick is, how thick it is, how it stretched their ass so far they’ll never be the same. I know one girl who had a boyfriend, but fucked him so her main guy would have an easier time going up her ass. That kind of man is right up Emma’s alley.”

But of course, the singer’s only seventeen, so maybe Emma has to keep it on the downlow. Guess being in jail hasn’t rendered her immune to jailbait!

Seventeen? Peter was eighteen. Wasn’t he? No, that was right, he’d just turned seventeen that month. Emma had made him a cake to celebrate. Well, she’d rubbed icing on her tits…

“Peter and I are just good friends,” Emma told us at LAX—the same line of bull Rihanna said about dating Ed Sheeran, and Simon Williams said about Sue Storm. But who was in that sex tape that leaked? It sure wasn’t Iron Man and Captain America!

Hell, he wouldn’t mind making a sex tape with Emma. Getting her on all fours, ramming her from behind, watching him big tits just swing underneath her as first he slapped her booty, then he started pounding her in the ass… that was art. It made him want to stop wasting time with music and just release that; they’d give him a Pulitzer. And the way Emma moaned… like first she was in pain a little, but still panting for it, so hot, and then she got into it, started needing it, and she begged for it no matter how hard he gave it to her, always wanting more until she got it…

And even if she didn’t want to make a sex tape, that didn’t mean they couldn’t rehearse.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence—not—but we’ve noticed Emma front-row at a lot of Peter’s concerts lately. Oh, sure, they’re for charity, but we’re betting giving isn’t the only thing Emma does till it hurts. And take a look at some of her looks on page 54: is that something you wear right before Labor Day or is it something you put on to give your boyfriend a peep show? If you’re Emma Frost, it’s both!

Yes, he could remember the sight of her, more vividly than the past few minutes he’d spent reading this article. She burst through the words he’d absorbed almost subliminally and there was the caress of looking at her, in an array of different colors, the dresses like different flowers in bloom—petals peeling back to reveal her palely delicate skin, in its soft whites, its fine pink. The gleam of applied perfume curlicued along her flesh, leading the eye almost tactilely, feeling out her ample curves into the blackness between her breasts, her thighs, under her dress, where the eye couldn’t penetrate but the hand could, if only he were close enough to touch…

And maybe we’re crazy, but we got two separate reports of Peter and Emma boarding the same flight in disguise. Wonder where the two of them sat?

Yes, yes, he remembered sitting next to Emma… requesting a blanket from the stewardess and feigning sleep underneath, while all the while his hand was where the blanket overlapped Emma’s thigh. He remembered the feel of her leg, creamy and smooth, but with taut muscle underneath the impossibly soft skin. For hours, he’d circled his fingertips, rubbed his palm in, tightened his grip and released it, applying almost hurtful pressure before using a touch so light he’d almost let go of her. And her flesh had responded in kind, the muscles tensing underneath until they were undergoing almost painful spasms at the end, being played by his contorting fingers as if a musical instrument. And for every mile that plane flew, her legs had opened just a little. By the time they landed, her sex had been wide open, begging for his touch, but having to settle for the friction of the bumpy landing. Her moans had been lost in the skid of the tires—thankfully louder than usual. They’d needed to be.

In fact, we’ve heard there is a sex tape. It hasn’t leaked yet, but we spoke to the cameraman—yes, cameraman—who recorded Peter and Emma. “It was late, we were all crashing after a night in the club, Emma was kissing on Peter—she can’t keep her hands off him when they’re alone, and with everyone passed out or gone home, they might as well have been. I was half-asleep, but hearing Emma moaning like she was… you could’ve fooled me who was the Black Cat, because he had her purring like a kitten. I lifted my head and they must’ve heard me, because Peter looked over my way and said “yo, wanna see something?” Then he pulled Emma’s tit out of her blouse. I couldn’t believe it, but Emma was totally down with it. They started kissing again with it just hanging out there!”

Looks like Emma has a bit of an exhibitionist streak. Who would’ve guessed it; she only dresses like she’s at a Victoria’s Secret show! “So I take out my phone, figure I’ll take a quick shot, just to be crazy. I don’t know, I was buzzed. But Emma notices. She spins around on Peter, so she’s on her lap but with her back to him, you know, and she starts looking at me as she grinds on him. I mean, she was giving him a lapdance. Peter asked me if I was filming it and I was like, fuck, dude, I am now! And they just kept going at it! It got to the point where he just bent her over and started spanking her, but that wasn’t enough, yo, she was calling out to me, I almost thought she wanted me to join in and I don’t stick my dick in crazy, but she wanted me to come closer. She wanted me to get a better angle on her!”

Peter didn’t need to see that sex tape. He could remember it. It was like a physical feeling, the memory was so intense, like warm honey being rubbed over his groin. He remembered the tightness of Emma, almost absolute, then the friction of rutting into her… the pounding in his ears drowned out the sound of her pleading for more, but the clenching of her body amply demonstrated her need. Still, he wanted to hear it, he wanted to hear her beg, he wanted to hear just how much she loved every inch of his cock as he drove it into her.

Okay, Roger Ebert, but how was the movie? Three stars or should we wait for the Director’s Cut? “They really went at it. He had barely stuck it in before she was asking for it in the ass. I couldn’t believe how much of it she took, too. And it took a while, too. I spent a few minutes just pointing it at her face while she talked about how much she loved having his cock in her ass, how no one else could fuck her so deep, how she needed a big dick from behind to fuck her to sleep. She had no fucking shame. Talked all kinds of shit. ‘Fuck me in the ass for Christmas, fuck me like I’m in a donkey show.’ I had to go to the bathroom to bust one out after they were done, and I still feel lucky I didn’t come in my pants.”

No shit, bro, we’re gonna need to put on a condom before we watch that leak. Not that we would, of course. But hey, does that sound quite like the man-eating vixen we know and pay ransom to? Because we’re a paragon of journalistic integrity, we talked to one of Emma’s former parole officers, and after we promised to send him a link to that sex tape the moment we got it (not really), he had a lot to say.

“Emma puts on a big show of hating men, but it’s cuz she can’t stand how into them she is. You flop a big cock in front of her, she’ll go crazy for it, so naturally she talks all big and bad about how she doesn’t like ‘em cuz she’s all ashamed of herself. I saw her throw herself at the janitor once when I was running late for a talk a ours. She musta gotten bored, figured he was packing, so she pulled him into a broom closet. She came out, we ran through our meeting, her doing her usual spiel about how sexist it was for the system to make a woman kowtow to a male, cuz it’s my fault I have gonads and was assigned her case. And all the while, she’s got cum in her hair. I thought it was a hairclip for a while.”

Hey, Mr. Sanitation Engineer, tell us how tight she was and we’ll give you a free subscription for life. And is she shaved? The people have a right to know!

She was tight and she was shaved. Peter had eaten her out for what felt like hours, her taste as crisp and juicy as the freshest fruit, her moaning exhortations even more delicious. He had loved pleasing her, loved hearing how much she was getting off and how she was coming and how she truly felt like a woman, all because of him, all because of his little tongue sampling the taste he would’ve loved anyway. Her hands in his hair, holding him to the manicured lawn of her pubis, but the smell real, tart and bittersweet, perfectly genuine underneath all her sculpted perfection. “Polish, Mr. Parker, polish—a diamond doesn’t shine unless it’s polished to a sheen”…