Skintight (Patreon)

Peter had no idea how he’d gotten here. The present was so overwhelming it blotted out all thoughts of the future, all memories of the past. He was on the rooftop of the apartment building where he lived with Mary Jane, he knew that much.

It was meant for miniaturized block parties among the residents by a well-intentioned landlord: there was wrought-iron fencing built on top of the waist-high parapet, everywhere except over the fire escape. Wooden patio furniture, padded comfortably, was covered with tarps when not in use, all but a round table with deck chairs pushed in that was sheltered from the rain by a big fringed umbrella.

He was in his spider-suit, so he must’ve been swinging onto the roof after the action to change back into his regular clothes and go back to being Peter Parker. But Mary Jane and Felicia were there, so they had to have intercepted him as he came home… and there things got fuzzy.

Mary Jane always looked good: an impeccable sense of fashion piled on top of an exquisite body that could make one of his old T-shirts look like a million dollars. But now she looked like sin personified.

She wore a catsuit much like Felicia’s, adhering totally to her slender body, but patterned after a Bengal tiger. It also didn’t have the zipper, though the neckline plunged low on her cleavage, breasts held in skintight confinement by the supple costume’s white front. At her flanks, it became a tawny orange suiting the freckled redhead—shot through with black streaks which continued on down her long legs and up her arms. A domino mask gave a touch of kinkiness to what was already pure sex.

Then Mary Jane turned, showing off the thick ass that Felicia was lacking, its fat contours locked inside a costume so tight that it rode up her cheeks nearly to her anus. The girth of her ass nearly overwhelmed the long, tapering legs that had made her a world-class model, but in the end, nothing could befit those towering legs like the ass that topped them, and the costume showed off her luscious body better than anything short of nudity.

She would have looked perfect except for Felicia standing beside her, looking so good in the second skin of her own catsuit that she could’ve been a mirage, were it not for the few wrinkles in the taut leather proving it was real fabric holding to real flesh. How could statuesque Mary Jane and voluptuous Felicia both be perfect in such different ways?

Felicia rested her hands on her hips, on the iconic catsuit that covered all of her body except for what was shown by her plunging neckline and dainty mask, more a touch of bondage than a safeguard of her identity. So much of her gorgeous face and plump breasts were displayed that there was no doubting their supremacy. She was always a work of art, but years of experience had made Peter somewhat inured to how her classic costume showed off her charms.

Except, blindsided by how Mary Jane looked, he found himself exquisitely vulnerable to just how lovely Felicia always was. Each woman heightened the attraction of the other, for Peter knew he didn’t have to choose. He could have both, if only he listened to the burgeoning lust inside him that felt impossible to resist…

Thrusting out her famous chest as if to invite comparisons to the dump truck ass Mary Jane was showing off, Felicia radiated smugness. In herself, as always, but she didn’t seem to feel a rivalry with MJ, but rather to take pride in her beauty as though it were her own. “Red here did me a solid—I decided I’d pay her back by taking her on a little shopping trip.”

“The one shop I never could’ve found,” Mary Jane added, not seeming to mind Felicia’s arrogance when she looked as good as she did.

“That’s right, Spider. The same boutique where I get my costume. And we made one for Mary Jane using a few ideas we would use on my costume, if I didn’t know better than to mess with perfection.”

Even through his maddened arousal, Peter grinned, remembering a few of Felicia’s attempts to ‘improve’ on that perfection. He was glad the mask hid his smirk. But just as nothing could suit Felicia so well as that timeless look, he couldn’t imagine Mary Jane looking as good in a copy of Felicia’s catsuit as she did in this. It was hers… her sexual fantasy every bit as much as the black catsuit was Felicia’s.

“Meet the Red Cat—my partner in crime,” Felicia concluded.

She wrapped an affectionate arm around Mary Jane, resting the hand at her waist, over that world-class ass with a proud, possessive touch, which Mary Jane still didn’t seem to mind—any more than she minded the caresses of the models she was photographed with in all sorts of slinky, sexual poses.

Only there was no camera in evidence. Just Peter, enjoying… if that was the word for the burning intensity he felt… the private show.

Peter’s tensely knotted body couldn’t take any more temptation. His erection had been swelling with every moment he spent in the presence of these two sirens. And his costume had always been skintight. Now, it simply could not keep up with the strain.

With a rip, Peter’s fully engorged erection tore through his costume, standing up so proudly, with such violence, that Mary Jane and Felicia took an instinctive step back from the outburst. Then Mary Jane turned around to face it head-on, standing alongside Felicia like they were teaming up against the threat they now faced, though the two greatly enjoyed the heights they’d driven Peter to.

“You forget just how big that thing is,” Felicia mused, mouth drying in her excitement, green eyes drinking in the sight without hesitation or shame. Or envy. She knew that it was as much for her as it was for Mary Jane. “God, Red—and you try to turn him on even more?”

Mary Jane shook her head, only partially hearing Felicia’s words in the presence of such a massive distraction. “How could you forget a thing like that?”

“I guess you chalk it up to nostalgia… tell yourself it could’ve have been that big, and that hard, for that long…” Breaking partly from her haze—Felicia had, after all, had even more experience with well-hung men than Mary Jane—she turned to look at the redhead. “If you’ve memorized how big it is, how come you keep doing the on-again, off-again thing with Peter? Can’t you remember it’s more fun on?”

“I don’t know, the costume looks better off.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Spread your legs,” Peter ordered out of the blue.

He’d been lucky enough to have his own surfeit of experience with well-endowed woman, but having his cock leap out in broad daylight, with both Felicia and Mary Jane singing its smutty praises… that was simply too much for any sense of self-restraint to keep up with.

He’d already given in enough to let his erection grow this out of control; he saw no sense in reeling himself in now. Better to throw himself into the deep end of whatever this was. The mood was too wild, too permissive, for him not to push it as far as he could—and reward both these women for just how lovely they both were.

Mary Jane’s face flamed and she unthinkingly shot a glance around the rooftop. She was no stranger to crass behavior, but this was different somehow. Peter was usually so sweet and innocent—the not-so-innocent side reserved for when he was alone, in private. And not Spider-Man. And now here she was, with Felicia right there, and Peter was acting like they were in the middle of some marathon sex session.

“Out here, tiger?” she giggled nervously. “Someone might see us, see me…”

“Who cares if someone sees you? You look great,” Peter countered. “Too damn good not to be mine.”

Mary Jane bit her lip, then gave in—opening her legs. The skintight fabric pulled taut on her luscious body, kissing into the curve of her pubic mound… showing off the cleft that invited Peter’s cock inside. And more—the little prod her clit made against the material as her own arousal mounted.

Mary Jane had thought that, short of Black Cat, she was as close to shameless as it got, yet she couldn’t stop blushing. Peter had never seen her like this before. And certainly Felicia hadn’t. Yet the feeling of being seen, and the possibility of someone else coming across them, gave her a strange thrill. She was so turned on at the prospect of what Peter was going to do to her that she could even get off on being seen doing it.

“You look like a goddess in that costume, MJ. Just like you always do.”

“Tiger,” she mewled, pleased by his words. Then, for no reason she could discern, she had to include Felicia. “What about Black Cat?”

“You know how good she looks,” Peter almost moaned, wrapping his right hand around his cock and squeezing its stiffened length enough to release a drop of precum from the tip. “That’s why you wanted her costume, right? So you can look as good as she does… the same kind of good as she does…”

Mary Jane nodded haltingly, embarrassed by his unleashed cock, but more than that, by how he’d pegged what she’d been trying to prove. She didn’t just want Peter to make love to her. She wanted him to fuck her the way he did Felicia… why was that?

It was a horrible time for introspection. She kept glancing at the rooftop access door that could let anyone in, at any moment—and she also kept looking at his cock.

“Black Cat is Spider-Man’s woman,” Peter said softly, pumping gently on his endowment as Mary Jane longed to, as if showing her what to do. “But you’re my woman. My piece of ass..”

Felicia was watching too, smiling, not seeming to think, just letting the sensuality of the moment wash over her. Mary Jane envied her. Maybe that’s what she wanted from all this. To let go of the complexities of her relationship with Peter and just be his woman… just be his…

“I’m your piece of ass, tiger,” Mary Jane breathed, feeling her pussy getting wet. It was a familiar feeling when she was dating such a generous lover, but it felt very different when her damp, sensitive pussy was swelling against the tight grip of the catsuit… outlining every tender inch of her aroused sex.

Peter took off his mask with his free hand. His eyes seemed to glow. His cock wasn’t getting any softer, but trembled as he stroked it. Slowly tracing his fingers up and down the mad arousal that possessed him and had set its sights on Mary Jane.

“Black Cat is Spider-Man’s woman,” Peter repeated. “Red Cat is Spider-Man’s woman.”

“Spider-Man’s woman,” Mary Jane murmured, barely recognizing her own voice, it had become so husky.

She wanted to join in with what Peter was doing… touch herself… but it seemed impossible in the clinging, restrictive catsuit. And she was actually a little afraid of how it would feel, fondling her womanhood inside such a tight embrace. It was bad enough she felt a narcotic rush at the thought of letting Peter have his wicked way with her; how slatternly would she be getting herself off?

“Get down on your knees, Red Cat. Suck me off like Spider-Man’s woman should.”

Mary Jane moaned, but a force entered her voice that she hadn’t known was there… a last bastion of sanity before she sank into absolute lust. “I won’t… I can’t… Felicia’s right here… I’m not going to do it!”

Peter stared at her twitching cunt through the costume that held it, his cock swelling up as if about to fire, but Mary Jane knew that with his stamina, his control, he was far from it. Precum dripped from his glanshole, his pistoning glove smearing it over his smooth, swollen knob.

“Alright,” he said. And stopped pumping his cock.