Eight Legs For Three Ladies update (Patreon)

Mary Jane felt pretty smug about bringing a cat burglar along to let the two of them into Peter’s apartment. They heard someone unlocking the front door and hid in the laundry room. Then Mary Jane saw that it was Gwen coming in and felt less smug.

“Did he give you a key?” Felicia asked in a whisper.

“I’m sure he’s going to,” Mary Jane hissed back at her. “I’ve been a little busy, in case you don’t remember…”

Gwen set a shopping bag on Peter’s kitchen table, then stripped off her clothes. Inside her yellow bra and panties, her body was tight and sylphlike. She didn’t have the curves that Felicia or Mary Jane did, fore or aft, but she did have a lean tautness that was appealing in its own right.

“It’s so wrong to spy on her like this,” Felicia whispered.

“You’re watching,” Mary Jane noted.

“I’m a bad girl. And you’re watching too.”

“She’s dating my boyfriend. How much privacy should she expect?”

“I don’t think she’s going for privacy at the moment…”

Gwen dropped her panties and unhooked her bra, replacing them with what she had in the shopping bag. A black merry widow, dark nylons, and red high heels.

“Does she always dress up like that?” Felicia whispered.

“How should I know? But no.”

“Guess you’re not the only one who’s upping her game. Only she’s giving him lingerie, not a threesome. Shows confidence.”

Gwen combed her long hair, going to the chrome-plated refrigerator to check her reflection. She took make-up from her purse, rouging her cheeks and painting her lush lips a deep red. She gartered her stockings tightly to the merry widow’s straps, then moved to Peter’s bedroom and waited.

A few minutes later, Peter had come through the front door. As though he had a sixth sense, he crept to the bedroom. He laid a palm on the cracked door and, from the side, eased it open a little. “Gwen? Is that you?”

“Of course, Peter.”

“Uhh…” Peter seemed to realize the absurdity of asking for permission to enter a room in his own apartment. “Can I come in?”

“Absolutely.”

Mary Jane could only imagine what Peter saw as he stepped into the bedroom. The laundry room didn’t offer a view.

Felicia threw the door open. “Come on!” she whispered to Mary Jane, and without a chance to think better of it, Mary Jane snuck with her to the hallway outside the bedroom. From around the corner, they could look to the open bedroom door and see inside.

Gwen was sitting on the bed, her legs crossed, her pretty face radiating a sensual challenge. She licked her wet tongue over her red-lacquered lips. Then pointed accusingly at Peter’s groin.

“My, my. How naughty.”

Peter’s back was to her, but Mary Jane could just imagine what Gwen was seeing. Peter wore baggy clothes to hide his heroic physique and skintight costume, but there was no concealing that rigid shaft when it got hot.

Gwen wagged a finger at him. “Shame on you, Peter. Don’t keep that poor thing all cooped up. Let it out. I want to see it…”

Peter unzipped his pants—Felicia shuddered at the sound like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

“Take your shirt off, too,” Gwen ordered, and Peter stripped off his shirt. He stood in front of Gwen, his lean-muscled body glistening with sweat, his prick still in front of him where Mary Jane and Felicia couldn’t see, but Gwen could.

“Either she has low standards or…” Felicia trailed off.

“Does she look like she has low standards?” Mary Jane replied. “She wears a hairband!”

Gwen bent over slightly at the waist, pressing her lissome breasts against the top of her merry widow until it looked as if they would spill out. “I know they’re not the biggest in the world, but more than a handful is a waste, don’t you think?”

“Bullshit,” Felicia whispered.

“Nonsense,” Mary Jane whispered.

“I think you can see that you’ve got more than enough for me,” Peter said.

Gwen was unable to take her eyes from between his legs. “And vice versa…” She uncrossed her legs, giving Peter a look at her bare cunt.

Peter sighed. “Ohh… if you’re not going to take care of this…”

He took hold of his cock and began to jerk it. Gwen gasped; her stare intensified. Mary Jane could see between her legs and her cunt was twitching, her clit starting to come out from its hood.

“You naughty boy,” Gwen panted. “Playing with yourself! Touching that big cock of yours! You should be punished, Peter!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Peter crooned, clearly not listening to her. Tending to his hot throb instead.

His cum spurted out in a torrent that splattered Gwen’s heels, her legs, all the way up to her bare crotch.

“Ahhh… Gwen!” he groaned.

“I would’ve said your name,” Felicia whispered.

“Don’t blow it all at once!” Gwen giggled, smiling sensually as she pumped her hips, doing a slow bump-and-grind to elevate Peter through his finish.

Peter shuddered and shot some more. Even when he was dry, his prick stayed hard as a rock. He slowly stroked it as though needing to pacify it, get it back under control.

“I think you can stop touching it now,” Gwen said.

Peter reluctantly released his cock. His hand was white with cum.

“Bring it closer,” Gwen said.

“Too much to hope for that she would send him away,” Felicia commented.

Mary Jane shushed her. She wanted to see what good little Gwendolyn did next.

Obliging, Peter walked up to Gwen, who stood up to face him. She stood with her hands on her hips, taking a challenging, unimpressed posture completely undercut by the clear excitement on her face.

Once he was next to her, Gwen looked him up and down, eyes taking in his toned body. She tried to finish up her tour of his nakedness by looking him in the eye—but her eyes immediately dropped back down to his rigid cock.

“It’s… not soft. All my girlfriends say it’s supposed to get soft now…”

“They’re just having fun with you. Mine usually stays hard for five or six rounds.”

Felicia glanced at Mary Jane: “What the—“

“Shh!”

“That’s convenient. So what do we do with you, huh Peter? Now that we know you can’t take care of this with your own hand?”

“I have a few ideas,” Peter said, sliding up to put his arm around Gwen’s waist. And as he did, he turned to the side.

Felicia’s eyes widened. His prick was shuddering, writhing spasmodically, as big and as hard as a gold brick. “In that photo you showed me… was he even at full power?”

“I might’ve gone down on him a few times first,” Mary Jane said hushedly. “And keep your voice down!”

“A few times--!” Felicia breathed.

“Shhhh!”

“Maybe we could wash up,” Gwen suggested. “Because if I’m this dirty after the first time, by the end, I’ll look like a snowman!”

Gwen made a beeline for the shower; Peter swatted her playfully on the ass.

“Who doesn’t like snowmen?” he asked.

Felicia and Mary Jane pressed themselves against the wall as Peter and Gwen passed.

Thankfully, they were far too occupied with each other to notice anyone else in the apartment. A moment later, they were in the bathroom, the shower running.

“Maybe we should do this some other time,” Mary Jane suggested, but Felicia was already following after the two lovers. And now she had her phone out.

***

The rings of his shower curtain clanged as he slid them together; there’d never been a more lovely sound to Peter. He turned on the water as hot as it would go in hopes it’d manage to be at least lukewarm, then kicked off his shoes and fidgeted out of the rest of his clothes.

Thank God for spider-sense, he thought. However fate and probabilities worked, he seemed to just know when he got dressed when it would be a good idea to keep his costume in his backpack instead of wearing it under his clothes.

“I just bought these,” Gwen rued, putting her soiled merry widow in the sink to soak. Then she took off her heels, which Peter could hardly stand still for, and lowered her stockings…

No sooner had she sent the two nylons soaring with kicks of her svelte legs than Peter pulled her under the spray of water with him. “I figured I did enough to your clothes already, but next time, you’ll be taking them off in the water.”

“It’s too hot!” Gwen pouted, sliding past him to take shelter from the water under his tall body.

“Isn’t that your fault?”

Peter groaned to turn away from her, but for once, the water was steaming. He turned the dial until it was merely warm, then picked up the bar of soap and shoved it into Gwen’s hand.

“You want me clean? Get me clean,” he told her. “Then I’ll clean you up.”