The Moonstone Connection Part 1 (Patreon)

“This is a lovely house,” Donna said, gazing around the richly furnished interior of the living room, her heart pounding.

She had worked hard that morning, putting the finishing touches on all her jobs and then leaving last night’s development to her assistant. She’d showered again to wash off any hint of the photochemical fumes and gussied up for meeting with Mary Jane Watson. It was part courtesy—how better to show respect to a model than to look good for her?—but also it was seduction.

Everyone had heard of MJ being on the outs from her boyfriend, which put blood in the water. Even if Mary Jane hadn’t been so personable and beautiful and good-hearted, Donna almost would’ve wanted to date her just to keep her away from the sharks, even the ones Donna knew MJ could handle herself. A woman so beautiful, and who had suffered so much, shouldn’t have to put up with such things.

They sat on a big sofa, chatting. “I was lucky to get it,” MJ said. “Usually I stay in hotels or with friends, but I thought I’d splurge after…” Mary Jane stopped and flashed a smile instead, her green eyes flicking across the snugly delineated cleavage inside Donna’s top. “Well, I deserve it. Oh, I don’t know why anyone would think you were older, but you look so young to be so successful. Tell me, did you practice photography on myself?”

“No, no. I just started early, had some good teachers… saving the world occasionally helped…” Donna could feel a sweet tingle between her hips as she spoke. The vibes were good. Donna could feel the interest in Mary Jane’s manner. MJ was a woman who knew how to wear clothes, and there was a certain way she wore the navy-blue pajamas she was lounging in. It seemed to reveal every line of her exquisite body, especially her voluptuous breasts.

Her look was lazy, well-fucked, and Donna wondered if that would make her seduction more difficult or if it wasn’t Mary Jane trying to seduce her. A woman like this would take time and her best efforts—but she’d be worth it. Mary Jane had class, she had experience, maybe even with another woman.

“So what did you have in mind?” Mary Jane asked. “I don’t have a lot of time before I have to do work-work, but any chance of getting to work with you…”

“Oh, it’ll just be a quickie,” Donna assured her, touching Mary Jane’s cheeks with a faint pink flush. She was flattered, all right. “Bra and panties, I should think. I’d hate to hide any of that lovely body.”

She finished with a wink, feasting her eyes on the proud jut of Mary Jane’s breasts, then along the full, slightly open thighs to the sweet outline in her pajamas. No panties underneath.

“Me too,” Mary Jane said. “But you dress a little strange for someone who hates to hide lovely bodies.”

“Why, thank you, honey,” Donna said. She was going for it, she liked Donna and her body. Donna shivered and wished she could rush this, but she couldn’t, it had to be just right.

And Mary Jane felt a sweet excitement herself as well. She had never met anyone quite like Donna Troy. Superheroes, of course—either at Peter’s side or just at parties like any other celebrity. But Donna was like a goddess come to earth. Casual, but eloquent and flawless. Mary Jane envied her for having the effortless beauty that she herself aspired to. Funny how she wasn’t jealous. Other girls like that had made her jealous.

Maybe it was disarming that Donna so clearly wanted to fuck her. That set down a mutual respect. Donna wouldn’t be so lustful if Mary Jane didn’t have something to offer, wouldn’t be so open about her interest if she were ashamed of it. MJ liked the directness of it. No closet-case sniping, no bullshit, just the cool flirtation of it. The only reason it wasn’t blunt was because Donna was too elegant for that.

God, she is elegant, Mary Jane thought, shivering again. Hits me right in the same spot Gwen used to. I haven’t had a girl work on me since her. If I wasn’t enjoying her throwing for me so much, I’d let her have it tonight. The truth was, she didn’t trust herself. With the Peter thing blowing up as it had, she was reluctant to rush into anything, even a fling.

“I’d love to model for you,” Mary Jane continued, her nipples tingling. “Just so long as neither one of us hides anything.”

“Yes, you’ll see everything.” Donna winked, wetting her lips with her tongue and arching her breasts ever-so-slightly in her new posture. “Why don’t we go through your drawers?”

“Oh?” MJ asked.

“If this is going to be a lo-fi shoot—all guerrilla—you should supply your own wardrobe. I should see what you’ve got.”

“You just want me to show you?”

“Would you rather I see for myself?”

“Watching can be a lot of fun.” Mary Jane stood up, deliberately grinning to set off the shameless quip. “But I’d better make sure you don’t get lost.”

As they walked to her suitcases, Mary Jane was not at all surprised to feel Donna’s left arm slide around her waist and squeeze her a little. A delicious little pang of need was inside her clit. Their eyes met and held.

“Maybe you should let me get lost,” Donna said. “I find things better when I’m allowed to explore.”

“Oh no, when I get a girl where I want her, I keep her right there.”

***

“How do you want me, Donna?” Mary Jane asked. Donna had set up a very nice studio in the rear of her apartment, with just some flood-light stands and reflectors, and all in no time at all. The speed of Hermes.

I want your ass on that couch and your cunt in my face, Donna thought, trembling with excitement. But she had to take this slowly, carefully. Two days had passed since MJ had agreed to pose for her, they’d gone back and forth on social media several times, and now they were ready.

Mary Jane’s miniskirt, her sleekly dark nylons, and her well-filled blouse made her a picture even without the cameras. But it was her dainty, girlish mannerisms, each little motion accompanied by an appropriate toss of her long rich mane, that made Donna’s clit ache.

“Let’s try you in bra and panties first, honey. Make sure you’re not shy,” Donna smiled. She wore a snug black pantsuit, showing off her body as Mary Jane had requested, her stylish heels making her legs appear endlessly tall. Mary Jane was noticing. “I know you’re on the outs with Peter Parker at the moment—have you considered what it’ll do to your relationship if you go au natural?”

“Might improve his performance.”

“You mean he isn’t taking care of you?”

Mary Jane smiled. “It’s not so much quality as quantity.” Her hands went to her blouse. “It’s hard for him to make time for me and for his work.”

“What you find important is what you find the time for.”

A faint flush touched Mary Jane’s cheeks, but she looked away, casting around for the dressing room.

“I’m sorry,” Donna said, “I didn’t set up a dressing area in particular. I have some things for you to wear, right in that drawer, but you’ll have to take them into the bathroom if you want to change in private.”

“Why?” Mary Jane asked with a grin. “Haven’t you seen naked girls before?”

Donna smiled back at the innuendo even as her hands shook. “Not like you, red.” Not since Kory. Hera, do I ever love redheads…

“Ohhhh, compliments. Tell me more,” Mary Jane giggled, slowly unbuttoning her blouse.

To keep from staring too openly, Donna adjusted several floods and checked her camera. Her nipples were hardening against the hug of her suit top and the cage of her bra. Her cunt was turning wet.

“You have beautiful breasts, MJ. At least, what I can see of them, so far.”

“Takes one to know one,” Mary Jane smiled, giving Donna a warm glance. “Or is that two…?”

She removed her blouse and the sudden view of Mary Jane’s jutting breasts in their thin pink bra, the coral nipples showing through clearly, sent waves of need into Donna.

“Yours sell better,” Donna laughed. She draped some dark velvet material over a nearby chair; MJ’s redness, tanned skin with warm freckles, would look positively provocative against a dark background.

I’m sure she knows I want to fuck her, but she’s making me work for it, Donna thought. She’s making me want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life! More than I wanted Diana, even!

Mary Jane reached for her miniskirt, a delicious heat building in her crotch. Every move Donna made heightened her anticipation, made MJ wonder how that beautiful slender figure would go with her own voluptuous one. She was not rushing, despite the want she felt. She was playing it very smoothly. All the little niceties had been observed, the hints and glances saying it louder and bolder with every passing moment.

Mary Jane’s nipples ached, her clit ached. Nearly two years had passed since she had enjoyed herself with Gwen, and Peter hadn’t fucked her since the night he’d had to rush off to fight Doc Ock, and she’d finished her fun in the shower. If she’d been thinking of Donna, she would’ve peaked twice as high.

She dropped her skirt and stepped out of it, posing with her hands behind her head, legs slightly apart, her chest arched in appeasement of the viewer’s hungry gaze. She saw herself reflected in the camera’s lens and imagined that was her in Donna’s mind’s eye.

“You’re beautiful,” Donna said, her eyes sliding hungrily along Mary Jane’s figure, a tell-tale flush touching her throat. “I mean, you’ll photograph beautifully… you’re a natural.”

“How do you know?” MJ asked. “My panties are still on.”

She knew because she could feel her pussy sharing its liquid arousal with the sheer, lacy bottoms. A mirror behind Donna told her she looked her best: the smoky nylons accented her long, athletic legs, her tender nipples were sharply defying their filmy confines, and her visage showed the half hour she’d spent fixing her hair and lips and eyes.

“Need any help with that?” Donna breathed, moving nearer. Her eyes flared. Her breath sucked in. She was ready. They both were, Donna thought, shuddering with wild excitement. Her clit had grown full, begging for touch, and the fragrance of sex, her own or Mary Jane’s, touched her nostrils and whirled her senses.

“That’s not what I need help with,” Mary Jane whispered, swaying closer. Her full carmine lips were parted, her head tipped slightly toward Donna as if in secret communication. She was ready and waiting…

“Merciful Aphrodite!” Donna murmured, her arms sliding around MJ’s warm, pliant waist. Mary Jane’s arms coiled across Donna’s shoulders, their mouths brushing together as if they had already kissed a dozen times. Donna pressed her tongue sweetly inward, their breasts burning as they met, a little whine of excitement waiting in Mary Jane’s throat.

The luscious cling of the model’s mouth, the spread of her lips, her canting groin, they fired Donna’s lust. She was in. She had her! She pushed her mound firmly into Mary Jane’s crotch and hunched, Mary Jane shivering, opening her velvety thighs. She knew instantly that Donna was a dom, she the sub. Her soft yield to Donna’s grip, her tremors of mounting delight, were just as sweet as Donna had expected.

Donna stroked her tongue in Mary Jane’s mouth and slid her hands down to the alluring curves along her hips, her buttocks. Mary Jane hung on, shivering, her tongue locked to Donna’s. Her ass was delightfully firm, smooth and silken. Her luscious tits were pushed forward, alive to Donna’s passion.

Hera, does she want it! Donna thought victoriously. She slipped her hands down inside Mary Jane’s panties, intent on giving it to her. Mary Jane’s lips were trembling, her breathing was jerky. Slow and easy, now. Donna had to make it good for her. The first climax was so important.

“Mmmmm!” Mary Jane moaned, almost shaking with the force of her exhalation. Her lips clung, her crotch pushed in eagerly.

“Oh, you sweet girl, so sweet…” Donna panted, hunching again. She bit the full lower lip, gently, but with a little of the force she wanted to express. Her right hand went down inside the panties to the soft, dewy cunt. She felt the tell-tale wetness from behind.

“Over on the couch, princess,” Donna murmured. “We’re going to have fun.”

“You beast!” Mary Jane shrieked with mock horror. Her lips were still open; the dainty shivers running up and down her lush figure were oh so real. “You don’t want me to model at all…”

“The hell I don’t,” Donna replied, teasing the lower reaches of Mary Jane’s slit. Mary Jane bent herself to Donna, offering more of her sex. “But a girl photographs better when she’s had a nice fuck.”

“So I need to be fucked to photograph good?” Mary Jane pouted.

“You need to be fucked so I can stop thinking of that sweet cunt of yours,” Donna replied.

She drew her hand from the panties and steered Mary Jane over to the couch, easing her down. The beautiful redhead leaned back on the cushions, her firm thighs spread, moisture showing under her hugging panties.

Donna began to undress.

I’m easy and I wanted to be easy, Mary Jane thought, her pussy firing. God, I wish I could be even easier for her…

She watched Donna remove the tight suit top, lavished her lust on the sexy bra, the peeks of her tits as they stung through. “Cute!” Mary Jane giggled, staring lasciviously.

“I wore it just for you,” Donna smiled, loosening the band on her pants.

“If it’s for me, then you shouldn’t have worn anything,” Mary Jane said. She watched the pants come down, shivering. Donna’s panties were so small they barely covered her mound, but it was her long, long legs that sent hot tremors through Mary Jane.

“What luck.” Donna removed the pants. “I still have time to change…”

She moved right in front of Mary Jane, spreading her thighs, exposing her cunt, undulating her trim ass.

Mary Jane could only laugh. God, I wish she’d hurry. I teased her and now she’s teasing me, how is that fair? Oh, the way her tongue moved in my mouth—I need to know how it’ll feel inside me…

She dropped down at Mary Jane’s right and slid her hand between those nyloned thighs, her left arm circling Mary Jane’s waist. She hadn’t wanted to make love so badly since Kory, but the preliminary exploration was more important still. Kory had taught her how so many fell down in their eagerness to plow ahead and enjoy themselves. She could tell that Mary Jane was well-loved, used to beautiful fucks. Donna had to do better.

She shuddered, playing her hands along the silken vee of Mary Jane’s legs, feasting her eyes on the amazing tits that stretched her bra. She brought her mouth close to Mary Jane’s waiting lips, her clit a hot dagger between her legs.

“I think you’re going to photograph very well after this,” Donna whispered, finally reaching the delicate sex of her.

Mary Jane breathed with a tremble. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to work a camera,” she replied, her hips moving forward, pushing her cunt into Donna’s palm.

“Sure I will. I just have to do this…”

Deftly, Donna eased her hand down inside Mary Jane’s panties, cupping the soft, soft cunt. Teasingly she pressed it and drove her tongue into the waiting, heated mouth as she did so. Mary Jane shivered delectably, keening in her throat again. Her big, beautiful breasts arched forward, her arms clamped tightly around Donna’s neck, her cunt lifted to Donna’s hand. With the skill of long practice, Donna inched her middle finger slowly inside, into slickness and shivering and heat.

Mary Jane shook wildly, her mouth broke free, her lush thighs swung open, and Donna felt the first delicious shivers of Mary Jane’s need. This was it! She fucked Mary Jane with her hand.

“Ohhhh, honey!” Mary Jane cried, clenching on Donna’s fingers, clutching herself with the shock of her penetration. Donna knew exactly how much of her hand she was ready to take, and gave her it just a little faster and just a little harder than she was ready for. She felt as snug as she’d been the first time she’d fucked Peter.

God, it’d been so fantastic. His cock, big and hard and needing her. The balls that made cum by the quart, not the spoonful. The sex drive that spurred him to fuck her again and again, fucking her from a single evening into an all-nighter, then a rapturous weekend together. Friday night, all day Saturday, all day Sunday, Monday morning, and she’d demanded another go-round that had made him late for work. Her pussy felt sore just thinking about it.

He wasn’t the first man she’d fucked, but he was the first man she wanted to fuck twice. Hell, the first man she’d wanted to spend her life with. But Peter wanted to spend his life with Spider-Man, not her. He saw it as his responsibility to be apart from her, not endanger her with his life. And the fact that he’d been able to let her go meant she wasn’t enough for him. And if she wasn’t enough for him, then fuck him.

“Come, baby!” Donna panted into her open lips. “I want to taste you on my fingers!”

Mary Jane’s beautiful, flushed face contorted, her head swung back, her breasts heaved in her bra. Just as the her lovely body shook with the nearness of her honeyed climax, Donna found her clit with her thumb, stiff and quivering, and pushed it just as hard as she liked to have it pressed. She knew Mary Jane wouldn’t want any less.

“NNNNN—OH, OH, OHHH!” Mary Jane whimpered, hunching with each throb of her surging delight. “OHHHHHH!”

“I can tell it’s a good one!” Donna gasped, keeping her fingers in deep. A light, voluptuous spasm massaged them. Hera! There was nothing like learning the feel of a new cunt for the very first time. Nothing!

Mary Jane stopped shaking and slumped back on the cushions, breathing hard. Her hips worked tirelessly with the waves of her ecstasy’s aftermath, her coral nipples ready to pierce the clinging bra. At last she softened, her eyes opening wide with wonder.

“You’re just too much, Donna!” she breathed.

“Not for you,” Donna giggled. “I love the way you come.”

Mary Jane shared in her laughter. “You make it so good! Now what about your pussy?”

“You know what,” Donna said, spreading her legs. “You know just exactly what…”

***

Karla Sofen watched. There weren’t many opportunities for fieldwork in the profession of psychology, but ever since she’d learned how her Moonstone could make her intangible to light rays as well as other energy and matter, she’d been enjoying seeing the Naked Man. Something doubly ironic with those two. Naked they were, man they were not, but psychologically, they were stripped bare.

With Mary Jane Watson, it was an obvious fear of commitment. Whatever her issue with the old beau, Peter Parker, there was relief mingled into her estrangement from him, perhaps even an excuse she’d seized upon to jump out of an intensifying relationship. She was riding that high in her interactions with Donna, making herself more wanton and hedonistic than fit her psychological profile. She was enjoying herself, alright, but there was a certain force to that enjoyment—a woman whistling as she went by the graveyard. On some level, she was deriving pleasure from this because she was deathly afraid of not being pleasured by it. Of what it meant if she missed Peter Parker too much to be happy without him.

And then there was Donna. Donna and all her maternal, sisterly anxieties. It was no wonder a woman born in Western society, raised on Paradise Island, then assimilated back into American culture would have a skewed idea of the family unit. From Karla’s research, the woman had been decidedly submissive in her relationship with the alien Koriand’r, allowing ‘Starfire’ to court her, seduce her, and teach her—reenacting the loss of virginity that she had already experienced with certain women on Themyscira and some men before Koriand’r was even on Earth.

That indicated predilection, perhaps even fetish, but here Donna’s role shifted. She played not the ingénue, but the mistress, sending all the signals, arranging all the trysts, making herself dominant and masculine in a way that Watson was perhaps only receptive to because of how eager-to-please her strained relationship had left her.

It was, Karla theorized, a sign of Donna’s attraction to her mentor-sister-mother, Diana Prince, who Donna had clearly fixated on. There were similarities in appearance, manner, behavior—even taste in women, judging by the Prince woman’s liaisons with Artemis and Io. It was mimicking, common in cases like these. Donna lusted after her “sister,” but could not admit those feelings, so she tried to make herself into Diana—acting the dominating, powerful warrior queen in conquests of women she felt subconsciously would appeal to Wonder Woman.

Karla didn’t judge them except in a clinical sense. They were enjoying themselves, and really, most of the hoi polloi had similarly complicated motivations designed to shield them from the naked impulses behind their actions. People were afraid to be as lustful, as greedy, as violent as nature had intended them. They were, but they could never quite admit it. Karla found it fascinating.

But, soon enough, the show was over. The two tried to convince themselves they were content to snuggle, like there was any real affection behind their barnyard noises and rutting. Karla came closer, slipping a sedative from her costume. She simply laid it beside the bed and opened the lid of the container. A few minutes later, the women had become as still as statues. Quite lovely, really—not so mammalian and cloying as they’d been with their tiny movements, their breathing, their dreams.

Then, allowing the electromagnetic spectrum to interact with her again—‘decloaking,’ Karla supposed the term was—Karla simply went to the door and let in her men.

“Bind them both,” she said. “The redhead may give us leverage. Or a ransom. Or just some fun.”

***

It wasn’t often that a good webswing could fail to raise Peter’s spirits at least a little. What other people got from fast cars, expensive motorcycles—hobo-free subway cars, he got from swinging around on a biochemical miracle substance. But how could you enjoy something like that when every minute you were thinking this is what I left a dang supermodel for?

Not that he’d left her. Exactly. It was more like he’d stood on one of those airline conveyor belts and not tried very hard to get off. Well, should he have? She was standing on her own conveyor belt, it was headed away from him—it seemed a fifty/fifty situation.

So you’re only fifty percent doing this bungee-jumping crap instead of having the woman you love in your life? Mr. Internal Monologue asked. And she’s a model. And she’s a redhead. And she does that thing with her tongue…

Man, Mr. Internal Monologue did not censor himself.

Yeah, okay, fine. He could admit it. It was bullshit. Cops, firemen, they had lives. Captain America had a girlfriend. Hell, Iron Man probably had a baker’s dozen. Were they any less driven than him? Committed than him? Dutiful than him?

Well, maybe Iron Man.

But why did he have to be Spider-Man 24/7? A piñata for any idiot with superpowers and a grudge? Guardian angel to any bank vault that didn’t want to be violated by the Shocker? Surely, he could at least scale back. Make a hard and fast rule that he would only wear spandex three or four hours a day, which was pretty generous by anyone’s standards. Sure, he could break it if Galactus were attacking… or Magneto was rampaging through the city… or if Rhino was about to drop a truck on someone…

That was just it, wasn’t it? Everyone was someone’s Uncle Ben. If one person got killed by the Shocker, was it any better for their family that at least they didn’t die because Kang dropped a building on him and thirty other people? Everything was an emergency, everything was his responsibility, for the simple reason that he could do something about it. Not enough, never enough, but something.

And Mary Jane Model Redhead With The Tongue? What’s your responsibility to her? You’re only in love with her, after all. She’s only in love with you…

Fuck you, Mr. Internal Monologue.

Peter shot out another webline and his spider-sense blared a warning as it was interlaced with what looked like golden light, roping around his webbing like two whips colliding. Instead of continuing his swing, he was yanked off-course, pulled to a skidding stop on the rooftop of a lower building, and it was only his reflexes that had him flipping and cartwheeling to a low crouch.

“Okay, buddy, someone around here needs to learn how to use a turn signal…”

“My apologies for the brusqueness, Spider-Man…” It was Wonder Woman. Holy hell, it was Wonder Woman.

She dressed more modestly these days—jacket, pants that went all the way down to go with her legs, and she’d changed her tiara. But it was all still pretty much skintight, and she was still Wonder Woman.

“I thought it fair to ask for your assistance. One you care for has been kidnapped. I give you the chance to help get her back.”