Spider + Cat + Redhead update (Patreon)

Peter shook his head, but he let me take his hand and I took it straight to my tit. His fingers trembled when they touched me—so sweet—but I worked from the outside of my shirt and I made his hand cup my breast. The nipple was up, and if his glove was thin enough to let him stick to walls through it, then there was no way he couldn’t feel that. His fingers pinched lightly, and I let out a little coo, surprised and pleased. It always feels different when it’s someone else’s hand doing it, and it usually feels good—

So why doesn’t Peter want a family? He used to, after all. The thing with Felicia is fait accompli, but other than that… has he given up on it? He almost gave up on us before. So does he think a family, kids, they can’t happen for him anymore? Because of what happened with baby May? No. No, Norman can’t have ruined things for us, he’s dead. That evil, evil man can’t be hurting us even now—

I fingered my pussy with one hand, grabbed his dick with the other, pumped him just like I was stroking my fingers in and out of my cunt. I could feel hardness beginning to creep back into his member, and it just made me grip him tighter, until my fist became a clamp on Peter’s dick. He went hard again, almost like magic, blowing up to what had to be a foot of—

“Rogue? Marie? Anna? Whatever your name is? You in there?”

Rogue blinked. Mary Jane was reaching for her hand and she jerked it away instinctively, her stupor vanishing completely. “What in blue hellfire…”

Mary Jane took her hand back, resting it on her forehead. She looked wan and drawn, like she’d pulled an all-nighter or two, no make-up, no showers. Still, Rogue thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t pulled too deeply. Usually when she uprooted that much of someone’s psyche, it was enough to put them in a coma.

“You seemed shell-shocked,” Mary Jane said. “I thought maybe something went wrong.”

“Nah. It’s just been a while since I had someone inside me… and usually there are quite a few persons, all bouncing off each other, and it makes a kinda white noise. Ah can block it out. But getting’ used to just being by my lonesome in the old noggin, then suddenly feeling a whole heapin’ chunk of yuh… Ah guess I wasn’t ready.

“Are you okay now?”

“Think so. How long was I out?”

“Maybe a minute.”

Rogue nodded, and gaped stupidly at MJ. She hadn’t really been paying attention before, but being in Mary Jane’s head had made her self-conscious—or just conscious—of MJ’s body. She stared at the redhead’s tits, amazed that they stood out so firm and high without the help of a bra. And they were real, too. She remembered from having them. And then those legs! So long and slender and perfectly shaped! The chickadee was gorgeous!

“Rogue?” Mary Jane snapped her fingers a few times. “Are you going away again?”

“No! No. Not on y’r life. Ah jus’ needed to get my head on straight. Ah’m gonna go deal with who-so-ever is making such a nuisance of themselves!”

“And I am going to stay here and sit down for a while,” Mary Jane said. “A long while…”

Rogue nodded. “Don’t you worry none, you’ll be okey-doke soon enough. Just takes a while ta wear off.” For both of us, she thought, raising a hand to her racing heart as if she could reach through her breast and quell its excitement by—

His hand was surprisingly rough and callused as I pulled it into the unbuttoned gape of my shirt. “Go ahead,” I told Peter. “Touch me. Feel me. Haven’t we both waited long enough?”

***

A HYDRA cell suddenly going on the attack with Hong Kong knockoff Sleeper units. Peter had no idea what the world was coming to. With four city blocks affected, it got to be enough of a rumpus to draw in Daredevil, Sue Storm, Cage and Rand, and even Rogue, with the Black Knight too for a truly eclectic group. Peter wondered if they were going to form a new line-up of the Defenders after, but it was not to be. They took out the war machines, tied up the goose-steppers, and brought down the Grand Poobah.

“Red Skull,” Danny Rand said. “I wish we still did this for money. Someone would have to pay us for hitting him this much.”

“Maybe we could have ourselves a Kickstarter,” Cage suggested. “And every time we get a grand in donation, we knock him through another wall.”

“For charity, I’d hope,” Sue said, arms crossed.

“Look at m’man Danny. He’s wearin’ footie jammies. If that ain’t a charity case…”

“Guys, I am an Avenger,” Peter said, inwardly cringing that he wouldn’t get to crouch on something in the background and wait to make a joke. He was way more comfortable being a human Rifftrax than any sort of authority figure. “And Cap said that he’s been tracking the Red Skull through Angola. So what’s he doing here?”

“Getting his ass kicked,” Cage said, and bumped Danny’s fist.

Peter checked the unconscious man over. Sighed as he found a familiar control unit on his wrist. “Holograms,” he said, breaking it. “Worse than clones…”

In a flicker of static, the infamous skull went away, replaced by the whitely featureless face of the Chameleon.

“Ugh, a spider-villain,” Matt said. “I get enough trouble from them already.”

“Have you got this, Spider-Man?” Sue asked. “We can help if you need it, but since he’s your guy, we should probably get on damage control.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing there aren’t any reinforcements coming. I’ll see what he knows.”

Peter threw off a salute as most of the heroes headed off to check the area for collapsing buildings or trapped civilians. Finding out that their special guest villain was a schmuck like Chameleon instead of an A-lister like the Skull took the threat level down to somewhere near mauve.

“You’re getting sloppy, Dimitri,” Peter said, hoisting a knee onto a block of wreckage and resting his elbow on it. “Used to be you went for practical effects. Now it’s all CGI, green-screen—what’s next, you invade New York with Jar-Jar Binks?”

“What can I say, Spider?” Chameleon shot back, his Russian accent starting to slip into his voice, replacing the Skull’s German terseness. “As good as I am, I can’t very well take off my nose and ears. Besides, I’m Russian. You think I like playing at being this Teutonic filth?”

“But let me guess: you needed to impersonate him to activate a HYDRA terror cell and do all this. Why? A diversion for the Sinister Six? Part of Norman Osborn’s latest performance art?”

“Norman Osborn?” Chameleon laughed. “You are funny, Spider, at times you really are funny! No. I am merely extending an invitation on behalf of the Kravinoffs.”

“Oy vey, they’ve still got you in their intern program? Wake up, Lon Chaney, Kraven’s dead. Even if he were into you, the man-crush ain’t becoming canon.”

Chameleon scowled, his face flickering into a wrathful Mel Gibson for a moment. Too much disguise technology, too little DNA. Peter had heard Mystique had a restraining order against him. “You know nothing of honor! Of serving, of keeping faith long after one has died—“

“Just get on with it,” Peter ordered, darkening.

“Very well. Sasha Kravinoff requests your presence at the Raft, where she is presently enjoying your American hospitality.”

“If she thinks I’m gonna break her out of there—“

“She merely wishes to talk. And if you don’t, well… perhaps next time I will impersonate a high-ranking AIM official? See what intriguing technology is being developed at the nearest underground lab?”

Peter sighed. “Hell with it, fine. I’ll go see what she wants. But the next time you pull a stunt like this, I’m giving you a black eye even your make-up won’t be able to cover up.”

“Hey, webhead,” Rogue called. Peter looked back in surprise. She hadn’t gone off with the others? “Mind if Ah get started on that early? This whitehead here ruined a hangover Ah was workin’ real hard on.”

Peter scratched behind his ears as Chameleon looked up at him fearfully. “Well… he’s kinda tied up and helpless… it’s not exactly heroic…”

Rogue kicked Chameleon in the face in a way that made Peter realize that it would only take a few black patches for the crook’s head to look like a soccer ball.

“Ah ain’t no hero. Ah’m an X-Man.”

Peter looked down at Chameleon. He was dropped like a sack of potatoes, but he was a breathing sack of potatoes. “Okay then. Cool team-up.”

“Uh-huh,” Rogue said. She was staring at him.

Peter stepped to the left. “Anything else?”

Rogue looked to the left. “Nah.”

Peter stepped to the right. “So... no one stuck a Kick Me sign on me or anything?”

Rogue looked to the right. “Who’d want to do a thang like that, tiger?”

Peter nodded. Admittedly, his life was so damn weird, this made comparative sense. At least no one was a Totem—to his knowledge. “So I’m gonna go.”

“You’re not injured? Don’t need no one to carry you?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll just—swing off some things.” Peter looked up at the sky, where a SHIELD Helicarrier had finally gotten airspace clearance. “And there’s the other boys in blue. I’d guess they’ve got it.”

“You don’t wanna take no pictures?”

Peter laughed suddenly, nervously. “Why would I want to take pictures? I don’t have an Instagram.”

“Bet you’d have yourself a nice Instagram, though. If you had one. Postin’ pictures of y’self looking all cute ‘n’ whatnot…”

Is she hitting on me? “I’ve really gotta go. You never know when you’ve been framed for something and the lawful authorities are gonna be shooting at you.”

“Tell me about it, sugah!” Rogue agreed. Peter fired off a webline and Rogue levitated off the ground, hovering nimbly. “Wait!” she cried before he could leap. “Ah’m supposed to tell you something!”

“What? From who?”

“Ah don’t know. Ah just know there’s somethin’ y’all need to know.”

Peter sighed inwardly—Madame Web. “Is my voicemail full or something? Fine, lay it on me.”

“Don’t forget to play your lucky numbers.”

“My lucky numbers? Lady, trust me, I don’t have any lucky numbers.”

“Ah’m jus’ getting a big vibe on that. If you play your lucky numbers, you’ll hit the jackpot.”

Peter swung away before the conversation could go any further. There was weird and then there was David Lynch.

Besides, he needed to talk to Sasha before he caught more fallout from her nuclear family.

Worst extended family since the Kardashians, easy.

***

I squirmed on Peter’s lap and there was movement inside his jeans… ohhhhhhh, I knew what that meant. I pressed the side of one hip down, moving in little jerks—my arm tightened around his neck and somehow our mouths came together. We were kissing, tonguing, working around and around. Our mouths wet, hot, they felt like one. My tongue was against his as long fingers curled tightly around my breast, and I did a little puffing chirp into Peter’s mouth.

We eased apart slowly, each of us looking warily at the other, as if we weren’t sure what had taken place. “I thought spiders had eight legs,” I said. “Not three.”

His face went red, but his cock didn’t get any smaller. I eased off his lap, onto the floor, onto my knees. His pants were tented by the thrust of his erection, and I touched the hidden tentpole with all ten fingers.

“Like I said, tiger, not everything’s your fault. This one is all on me…”

“I SAID, what are you doing here?”

Rogue blinked frantically. She had spaced out, flying back to the Xavier Institute, but she’d made the flight a thousand times before—she should’ve been able to do it on autopilot.

Only she hadn’t. She was in some apartment, and seeing it, she got a case of déjà vu that could’ve split her skull. There was a woman facing her, woman with a gun, woman with a big gun and… white hair.

What’s got Felicia so pissed? Rogue thought… or at least, someone thought it, and she heard it.

Rogue held up her hands placatingly. “I’m, uh… I’m not here to hurt you. Ah’m Rogue. Ah’m one a the X-Men.”

“I know who you are,” Felicia said. “And I’m not an X-phobe or anything. In fact, usually I’d be pretty intrigued by a superpowered Daisy Duke flying through my window, with…” She flipped her hair. “Some great ideas on styling.” She then affected a Southern accent. “But ah’m a little in the family way, sugah, so if y’r even thankin’ a hurtin’ mah bahbee—“

“Ah don’t sound like that!” Rogue protested. “And this was an accident! Ah took some life force from Mary Jane, and summa her memories came with it, so when ah thought ah was flying home, ah was really flyin’ here!”

Felicia scowled, but nodded. “Red did call, said she gave you a jumpstart or something. Ana went to pick her up.” She lowered the gun. “Not the worst navigational error I’ve had happen on me. Last time, I couldn’t sit down for a week.”

“Thanks for understandin’, sugah.”

“These powers, they have a way of blowing up in your face. I get it.”

You sure do. Rogue blinked. MJ’s voice again. And here she’d always wanted Jerry Reed to narrate her life. “Y’all mind if Ah sit down?”

“Knock yourself out,” Felicia said. “You want a glass of water too?”

Rogue shuffled toward the couch. “That’d be—no, you’re expectin’, Ah couldn’t possibly…”

“Hey, everyone else got to punch out Nazis today. Even Ana gets to rescue a damsel in distress, sorta. I can at least make myself useful.” Felicia stopped, turned halfway toward the kitchen. “Hey, are you alright? You look a little—“

Peter didn’t reply, except with a choked sound that might’ve been trying to be a word. My jacket was half off me by then, so I unzipped it past the bottom and let the two halves slide away from each other. Now he could see my nipples, stiff and sensitive, both of them, sending shudders through me as I thrilled them with my fingers, looking up at Mr. Mary Jane Watson-Parker.

“You did that,” I told him. “So what’s your next trick?”

“ROGUE!” Felicia yelled, but Rogue couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see anything but the floor and walls and ceiling all in a jumble, but she caught sight of Felicia as she fell, a blur of white hair reaching to catch her before she hit the

I picked up my purse, reached in, got the pipe and baggie, and filled the pipe. I don’t bother with buying mary jane anymore—of course, I grow my own, just in a little windowsill so I know it’s good. I’d grabbed what I could before I got out of there, bagged it on the subway, then buried it under all the shit in my bag. Not that I think Peter would look through it. For a spider, he’s the most trustworthy man I know.

I lit the pipe, took a deep toke, and felt the smoke flow through my body. It was juicy, liquid, not a harsh bone in its body, and fucking warm. Nice and mellow. As I smoked, I put my hand on the crotch of my panties. I’d slept in them, alone, but I wanted my ‘jayjay to know she was still in my thoughts. Still groping myself, I rolled over on the bed to the cracked window, blew smoke out along the windowsill. I didn’t want Peter’s place smelling of weed. Just my body, because I could smell that much more strongly, the pungent arousal of my cunt, the sweat gracing my curves…

My fist closed over my crotch and I squeezed, finishing the pipe as I did, and then lying back sighing and just enjoying the lack of pressure. There was always pressure—Harry being a drag and Peter risking his life and my shitty folks, but a little grass always cut through that. Put me in a good mood to get shit done, even if it was just going dancing. Never go to a party, always bring the party with you.

My belly growled. I hadn’t had breakfast, and I got the munchies as bad as anyone, and my throat was dry from smoking. Time to tiptoe down the stairs, just like a little mouse, and see what Pete had in the refrigerator. I’d pay him back, of course. He wasn’t like Harry, had to work for a living, and for that skinflint Jameson too. I didn’t want to take any of his hard-earned cash. A girl had to have some standards, after all.

I got out of bed, an airiness in my skull and a pleasant buzz in my pussy too. I stretched in the cool breeze that was coming through the window. I found my shirt where I’d dropped it, slipped into it, but only hooked one button. Peter was a friend, after all.

I tiptoed out the door, not wanting to wake him—went into the kitchen. Peter was either a monk or had no food budget. The fridge was mainly taken up by some science experiment or another. I decided to help him out by eating only the stuff that was going to go bad soon That way, it’d be like I was helping him clean up.

I also put a pot of coffee on. I didn’t know when exactly he called it a night with the web-swinging stuff, maybe it was just like screwing a lesbian and he just got a feeling when it was over. But if he had already come in, and was in one of his comas, I didn’t want to wake him. And if he hadn’t come back, I didn’t want to make his life even harder. God, the guy could barely take care of himself. It’d be a full-time job making his life easier.

Maybe I could cook something for him. The only Home Ec I got at home was boxing lessons—I could float like Muhammed Ali—but Aunt Anna had tried to teach me how to boil water whenever I was over with her. Maybe I could remember enough to make huevos rancheros. I really just needed some spices and veggies to whip something up. He certainly deserved better than the cold Chinese take-out I was getting…

Then I heard something coming from the living room. I stopped short, nearly dropping the take-out carton, as if I’d been caught doming something naughty. Peter’s place wasn’t huge. By some strange act of New York real estate, he’d rented a duplex that’d been cut in half—but vertically, not horizontally, so he had two halves of a bisected apartment, not a whole floor. The kitchen nook with its icebox and stovetop and microwave was up on the second floor with the bedroom, while the living room and the bathroom were downstairs. Peter had graciously let me sleep in his bed while he’d taken the couch, and he’d stammered so much on that sleeping arrangement that I didn’t dare suggest we could share, even in the most platonic capacity.

When I heard the piano plinking away, I thought it was a CD at first. It took me a moment to realize there was no way he had a sound system so good. The music was live. I tiptoed to the stairs and looked down through the banisters. I saw Peter sitting at a beat-up old Hamilton piano, picking away at the keys slow and steady, nodding along with his own skill. The tune was all melancholy, low, and somehow the way he played it seemed filled with feeling. Like he was living it as he performed each note.

Slowly I came down the stairs, wincing when I walked on a creaking step and made him break off the music. He looked up, a startled look in his eyes, and then he closed the keyboard cover.

“Oh, don’t stop,” I said. “That was really nice.”

He looked away, hurriedly, to the sheet music on its stand, and flipped the pages back to the beginning. I realized maybe he wasn’t used to having lady company over—especially lady company in bikini bottoms, unbuttoned shirts, and mismatched socks. I looked down at myself. The single button I’d fastened hadn’t been the best choice. The shirt gaped open above and between my cleavage, and something about his embarrassment embarrassed me. Blushing more for his sake than for mine, I buttoned up a little more.

Then again, with that Black Cat skank always hanging off of Spider-Man, maybe I was just reminding him that he could be having her over if he wasn’t putting me up.

“Just a few childhood lessons,” Peter said, sounding apologetic as ever. “Your Aunt Anna, actually—taught me as a favor to Aunt May. And then someone or other was moving, didn’t want to lug this piano around or see it smashed at a junkyard, so I put it in a corner. Goes over great when I want to stop hearing the neighbors.”

“Well, my Aunt Anna is a very good teacher,” I said, coming closer. “In fact, I think I remember a little something...”

Peter obligingly moved over. I sat down next to him. Flipped the keyboard cover. Made my fingers into claws and started to chop away at the keyboard, just like I remembered. G and F, G and F, G and F, G and F…

“I think I know this one,” Peter said, smiling sardonically from within his shell, and he played Chopsticks with me. G and E, G and E, G and E, G and E…

Then I looked over at him as we played. The only light was from a table lamp nearby, and in the dimness, his face silhouetted, I could see the outline he would have in the mask, the darkness drawn up over him as surely as his costume would’ve been. He was just so damn heroic, never cruel, never greedy, never asking for anything or hurting anyone, and here he was in this claptrap apartment, bruised and battered—with me.

With some dumbass party girl who thought she could be a supermodel, who didn’t have a place to go because she couldn’t pay rent. Who wasn’t even strong enough to go back to her parents, because they’d call her a few names. A little constructive criticism and I couldn’t take it, when there he was, fighting Doctor Octopus and Electro…

“Oh God,” I said, and my eyes filled with tears. I laid my head on his shoulder and started to cry. He shivered when I touched him, but he put his hand on my head and started to stroke me. I’d had a lot of boyfriends and none of them had ever touched me like that. But then, I’d never cried in front of them.

I looked up, trying to smile, and Peter said. “It’s alright, MJ. There’s nothing to cry about. Not really.”

I straddled the piano bench, a leg on either side of it, and put both arms around his neck to hug him, holding on tight. His hands moved on my back, tensely at first, but then they seemed to come to terms with there being a body under my shirt, and he pressed in, pushing me against him.

The next time we looked at each other, it was eye to eye, and his eyes seemed really weird to me—a little glaze on his pupils, a twitch of his nostrils. Maybe I was still a little woozy from the weed, or maybe it was the arousal I’d stirred up between my legs. He looked over at the keyboard, focusing really hard, playing Chopsticks one-handed.

Glancing down, I realized what was wrong. My shirt had slipped when I sat down, and one of my breasts was almost hanging out. If he couldn’t see my nipple then he still needed glasses. I started to pull the shirt back into place, but hey—fuck it. He’d seen it, after all. I gave him a shrug and a grin.

“I’m a triple threat,” I said. “Actress, piano player, and damn good-looking.”

He cleared his throat, nearly coughing. “You know you’re welcome to stay here,” he said. “Anytime. As long as you want.”

I almost wanted to ask him if he wasn’t afraid I’d figure out his secret. Because getting out that I knew would kick the elephant right out of the room. Stop it from getting in the way. Then again, when you didn’t have a dam in the way, shit got flooded.

I just wanted to be there. If he weren’t who he was, it would be so much easier. But I didn’t even know if I wanted easy.

“Do I get to tip the concierge?” I asked, wiping my eyes on his shirtsleeve, then facing him with a smile. I wasn’t going to pretend I hadn’t had an attack of heavy shit, but I wasn’t going to milk it either. Not Mary Jane Watson.

“Sure. If you see a rat, just do me a favor and throw a shoe at it.”

I slapped at him. “There aren’t any rats here, tiger. Trust me, I’ve dated enough to know.”

He put both hands on the keyboard. I kept both mine on him. He had Chopsticks going fast enough for both of us.

“How about we play a game?” I suggested.

“Sure. I’m up for anything.”

“Not yet.” I sidled down the length of the bench, to the far end, perching my butt there while I leaned forward to support myself against his shoulder. When he looked at me, I nodded back to the keyboard. “Keep playing. That’s the name of the game. You keep playing no matter what. And don’t you dare miss a note.”

“Or?”

“I’ll stop doing it.”

“Doing what?”

I put my hands in his lap. He was wearing slacks, with buttons as well as a zipper. I’d never undone buttons before, not on a man’s pants, and they were stretched out tight with the hardness of his cock, making it interesting. I had shoved my tits against him, and his reaction felt impressive as hell, even if I hadn’t seen it just yet.

“Mary Jane, this is—you can sleep on the couch, if you feel you’re taking advantage of my—“

“I haven’t begun to take advantage of you,” I told him. “Keep playing.”

His hands were doing a Bonne and Clyde dance on the keyboard—B and D, B and D, B and D, B and D. I pulled his cock out and he stopped his protests just about the time I saw it in the lamplight.

I’d seen a few before. His was thick, the way the best ones are, the ones that open you up and make you feel like you’re being wedged open for your man. His head was fat and bulging, and I could just circle it with my thumb and forefinger. I moved quickly down his shaft, to the base, where I squeezed down tightly. I felt him throbbing in my grip and saw a little drop of precum ooze out from the tip, so I brought my hand back up to feel that in my hand.

“And here I thought you didn’t have anything to eat in this place,” I quipped.

“Mary Jane,” he said, without a single discernible trace of conviction.

I lowered my belly to the bench’s surface, my ass in the air, bent over the flat surface like I was dating Flash again. I leaned in and started to lick his cockhead. He squirmed in place, and it seemed to me that his hips canted to give me a little more room, to get a straight shot at the back of my throat. I took him in my mouth to reward him. He sighed heartily, and I could tell he wasn’t even thinking of telling me to stop. Nobody tells Mary Jane to stop once she’s giving head. Nobody!

I moved down on him until my throat opened. He kept playing, beautifully. Maybe I should’ve given him something harder, like Moonlight Sonata. After all, he was giving me something plenty hard.

Almost before I knew it, my lips were pressing into the teeth of his fly. His cockhead was down my throat. I wondered if any of the other girls—especially the Boob Cat—had been able to do that. Some can, some can’t. To me, it was completely natural. I did it with the first guy I ever blew. It was as easy as drinking hot chocolate.

He was still playing, so I still wanted to treat him. It amazed me that he was able to focus on anything while I was deep-throating him. A little offensive, really. I literally wasn’t used to having a cock in my throat and not have a guy grabbing my head. So, just to make things interesting, I put my hand inside my pants and found his balls.

You wouldn’t know it from how tight his costume is, but they were huge. I jiggled them with my fingers, while my other hand slid onto his belly, into his shirt, and up his chest. He was a little hairy, and a lot muscular. I gave his pecs little love squeezes while I went up and down on his cock in great big swallows.

He was still playing when he came. Oh shit, I thought. Not so soon! Maybe he hadn’t been getting any Black Pussy.

My head jerked back and I held the tip of him prisoner in my mouth so I could taste him while he ejaculated. He certainly didn’t seem to have a shortage. My mouth filled with what seemed like gallons of his jizz, thick and creamy—I had to swallow just to make room for more. It tasted good, too. Went down smooth.

I closed my eyes, sighing and sucking and listening to the music play. When I let his cum slide down my throat, it was warm all the way down to the pit of my stomach. Smacking my lips, I released his wilting cock. Took my hand away from his balls and put them in my panties. While he watched, I began to touch myself. Little moans seeping from my lips. It felt so much better with the taste of cum in my mouth.

Peter stopped playing, watching me like he’d been hit over the head with a mallet. His cock was drooping now, lying half-sort, half-hard on his pants. I stared at it as I fingered myself.

“You stopped playing,” I said.

“Sorry.”

“That means you lose.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

I was turned on all over again, hotter than I’d ever been before, and I had to have mine. Had to have him. “You know what the loser has to do, right?”

He shook his head, barely moving it because he was so busy staring. My clit was erect, almost painful in its hardness. I kept my fingers rubbing along the pink nub, rubbing until I moaned, until I shivered, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up, pulled down my panties, and sat my ass on the keyboard with a burst of mangled notes.

“This is where I need it,” I told him. “Right now. C’mon, loser. Ante up.”

There was no way he kept a girl like the Black Cat around without being able to eat pussy.

It barely took a moment before I had him. His face was in my pussy and I wasn’t going to let him go for anything. I felt his tongue graze my wet, needing flesh and then he had one hand, and another, on my ass. He was groping me, his tongue was moving in my pussy, and I scissored my legs around his head. I was right. He was good. But I needed oh so much more than good. I needed that cock to own my cunt the way it had my throat. And he was hard again. Already.

“Make me scream!” I moaned. “Make me cream!”

He pushed me back, standing up, laying me back on top of the piano. “Why am I doing this?” he asked, snippet of some neurotic internal monologue as his fingers edged into the crack of my ass.

I tightened my legs on his head. “Because it tastes good.”

“No,” he said into my pussy. “I mean, yes, I mean…”

My pussy was way too tight for him to be able to say anything more. He ate in earnest, hungry for my cunt, hungry for me. I let him eat, ravenously, for half a minute. Then I uncurled my legs, kicked him back, and pulled him upward.

“I don’t wanna come in your face,” I told him. “I wanna come on your dick.”

He crushed me in his arms, his chest rubbing against my tits, his kiss possessing my mouth. I squirmed against him, moaning, hands slipping down to his huge cock. I tried to get it in, but it went between my thighs, sliding in my slippery juices.

“I could come like this,” Peter gasped, rutting away between my legs. “I could come just about any way for you…”

I felt his cock swell, pulsing wildly with his lust. I don’t think anyone had ever wanted me the way he had.

“I wanna be fucked,” I said. “Don’t you wanna fuck me, tiger?”

He grinned, an expression I hadn’t seen in a while, but that hit me like an old friend. Just like that, I was centered on the back of the piano with him on top of me. He impaled me, and I must’ve been ever wetter, even more ready than I’d thought, because he disappeared into me like a magic trick.

“I wanna make you come,” he sighed in my ear.

“You’re off to a good start!”

I clung to him, my arms around his neck as he fucked me. Hot hands on my ass, cock plunging in and out of me—I moaned like I was dying. And either I’d told him to or Black Cat was more of a whore than I thought, because he got a slick finger on my asshole and it slipped right inside. My eyes rolled back in my head.

“Oh, tiger, fuck me!” I panted. “Make me feel it, baby, make me come!”

Groaning, he rammed me, his massive cock plunging in and out of my depths, fucking me so deep that I squealed. His finger kept twisting in my asshole, driving me to the brink of ecstasy.

“I’m so close!” I moaned, squirming in his arms, ready to explode. “Just a little more!”

“Not yet,” Peter said, and pulled out of me.

I groaned as my impending orgasm sank back into me. “I was almost there! Don’t tell me you want to get married—“

He spun me around, turning me away from him—handling me so deftly, so confidently, that my arousal skyrocketed right back to where it had been.

“I want you like this,” he said. He dropped down behind me. I felt his cock on my ass. “Don’t you?”

“Oh, God, yes… God, yes…”

He entered me. Whatever we’d had before had just convinced him that I could take this.

All I could think of was how I wanted him. Not his personality, not his courage, but his body now, his cock, his cum, all the pleasure he could bring me. I thought of his cum in a panting frenzy as I let myself be fucked, biting my own fist to contain my screams, sucking madly. I was fiercely heated now, too overwhelmed to even finger myself, not when I’d have his load any second now… any…

“Aaah, here it—yes—here, coming, MJ—shit, your fucking cunt!”

Skank or no, I really owed the Black Cat a drink.

All too soon, his rigid cock deflated and limply ran from my still-clinging pussy. He took a step back, the piano sounding clods of music as he walked on the keys. “You’re… you are… you are such a redhead,” he breathed.

I slumped forward on the piano, my naked ass still jutting up in the air. I didn’t care how obscenely I was exposed to him. He deserved to see it. He deserved to see what he’d done to me.

“Thank you, ti—Peter. Thank you.”

“You’re…” he started a bit sheepishly. “Uh, you need any help getting down?”

I hardly heard the uncertainty in his voice. All I knew was that in the big list of pros and cons when it came to romancing your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, I’d just found one for the plus column. Hell, I think I’d found the entire plus column. “No, I’d… like to stay here a while.”

“Okay,” he said. “When you’re ready, I can take you to bed.”

I knew he didn’t mean it that way. Still, I clenched. “Don’t know if I’ll ever be ready…”

Peter lunged to the new subject, misguided as it was. “Yeah, I feel that way too sometimes. Too much coffee. Wanting to go to sleep but not being able to, just lying in bed—it’s the worst.”

“Oh, I don’t know… I think lying in bed not sleeping could be a lot of fun.”

“I… suppose…” Peter stooped down and picked up my panties. “I’ll just put these in the laundry basket!”

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be needing them anymore…”