Eight Legs For Three Ladies update (Patreon)

Peter kicked himself for skipping out on what Mary Jane had arranged for him, but he knew he’d hardly be able to enjoy a threesome when he was worrying about giving away his secret identity with every kiss.

Well, that was a lie. He’d enjoy it—but he’d still kick himself for it. He might as well kick himself while doing the responsible thing instead of being self-indulgent. Wasn’t that his whole deal?

Thankfully, the crisis was a nice, simple Rhino rampage. The guy still couldn’t think up a better way to use his strength than to knock over a bank (almost literally) and then make a break for it, leaving a trail of destruction that Mr. Magoo could follow.

It was enough to make Peter wonder if the guy had ever gotten away with a crime, ever. Even if the first superhero he ran into was, say, Jubilee, he would just keep attracting attention until Hulk took him out with a finger-flick. What was his plan, punch out every name on the Avengers reserve list?

What a maroon.

Of course, he didn’t happily skip away from a threeway with Felicia and Mary Jane, a small voice inside Peter’s head pointed out. What are you, gay?

Peter ignored it. Rhino was no pushover and Peter could throw himself into the fight. Maybe he had missed out on the orgy of the century, or at least the second part of it, but even he wasn’t neurotic enough to worry about that when he had civilians to keep out of dangers and quips to spout and photos to take for the Daily Bugle.

As the fight went out of the punchy supervillain, though, the grad student in Spider-Man couldn’t help but find an irony in this. Here he was, trying to take out a huge, horny beast—and the damn thing just wouldn’t go down.

Add in some clones and it could all be a bad comic book.

The Rhino staggered, his face bruised and battered. The rest of his flesh didn’t show the wear and tear, locked behind that thick gray armor, but Peter knew he was hurting. His own knuckles were sore; as were his ribs from not being fast enough to dodge one of the Russian’s charges. But he had Rhino on his last legs and knew he could keep it up long enough for ol’ Hornhead to go down.

Then there Felicia was—thankfully, not dressed or undressed the same as when he’d last seen her. She was in full Black Cat gear, showered and made-up. Much as Peter could’ve used her showing up earlier, he had to admit, she made herself worth waiting for.

“Still wrestling around with this one? You do like to take your time, Spider.”

And she sailed by him on her grapple-line, flexing out of the way of Rhino’s annoyed swipe to transfer all of her momentum into a roundhouse kick. It stopped her swing cold and helped Rhino’s nose along in its migration to the warmer climates out around his left ear.

Felicia let go of the line and dropped to a crouch at Rhino’s feet, then shuffled like a card trick into another attack. Lashing out with both feet to kick Rhino’s right leg out from under him. He dropped to one knee, grunting in pain as the fall took a chunk out of the sidewalk curb.

Felicia couldn’t exactly hurt him, even with all her athleticism, but she had an intuitive understanding of all the physics Peter knew so well he might as well be teaching them. Even if her blow couldn’t penetrate Rhino’s armor, its inertia still had to go somewhere.

And with Rhino off-balance, seeing red, thinking only of getting back at the annoying little gnat that had slighted him—Peter came in at an opponent that was one big opening, laying into Rhino with his Sunday punch and knocking him cold.

Rhino sprawled out on his back, nice and still for Peter to cover with webbing, just as a precaution. He’d be going nowhere until Code Blue got there to put him in more permanent restraints and relocate him somewhere more appropriate for the endangered species of dumb muscle.

Seems like every villain these days has a sob story and a grand plan for societal change, Peter mused. I’d probably actually miss the big chump if he ever rehabilitated. Then again, if it weren’t for him, I’d most likely have talked myself into another round with MJ and Felicia. Maybe I could find a junkyard with a car crusher on the fritz. Rhino could make a career of that. Headbutt a stack of cars every time he’s getting nostalgic for the good ol’ days.

“Nice to see you again, Spider,” Felicia cooed, waltzing around the vigilante to examine him from all angles.

Peter felt a charge, and not the usual one he got from the Black Cat. He’d just been with her as Peter Parker. If she figured out him and Spider-Man were one and the same…

“But where’s your little photographer friend?” Felicia continued. “He’s got to be the second cutest thing following you around, if you count me. Third, if we’re counting that ass…”

Civilians were starting to gather up again now that the threat had passed, sirens approaching too. Peter couldn’t hash this out with Felicia on the side of the street like a pair of tourists. He shot a web up to the skyline.

“I don’t pose for selfies,” he told her, and yanked himself up far enough to hit the face of a building. Running up its side, jumping, firing a webline to a cornice, orbiting, letting go, landing on a flagpole a reasonable distance up. Bouncing up again to land on the underside of a balcony, by now several stories up.

He swung himself up onto the empty balcony to find Felicia there, just landing on the railing with her usual catlike poise. Damn. He’d never know how she was quick enough to keep up with him without powers.

“It’s just I want to give Peter back something he gave to me,” Felicia purred, nodding happily at the thought. “About a gallon of cum. It’s soaking through my panties—think he’ll lick it up? His girlfriend won’t, but otherwise she’s pretty fun.”

She’s actually trying to make me jealous… of myself! Peter could’ve laughed at the idea; it was all too crazy. But sex-happy and being toyed with for the second time tonight by this vixen, Peter couldn’t feel his usual misgivings about what a cosmic joke his life could degenerate into.

This time, he could see the humor in it.

“I guess when I use you, then, I’ll need a fresh hole.” He reached for Felicia.

She pulled away from his grasp, sliding down off the railing and onto the balcony. A cat refusing to be petted—but Peter was her owner. And when he wanted to feel her, she’d damn well be felt.

“I want your ass. And not later.” He grabbed for her again.

Felicia whooped with a nervy laugh as he caught the fur of her collar. She wiggled again, slipping out of the top of her catsuit before she managed to separate Peter’s grip from her mane. She stood there, topless, not afraid, but proud of the view she had to display.

“You have a problem with me being full of another man’s cum? Maybe you should take better care of me then. Make sure you have me first if you don’t want sloppy seconds.”

She put her hands on her hips and Peter was reminded of Mary Jane, teasing him for having the audacity of leaving her. The two women really did have a lot in common. No wonder they had teamed up on him.

Peter circled her slowly, looking for an opening. “You’re not doing so hot at saying no. Must not have much experience.”

“I can always rack some up.” Her hands flexed their claws. Her long legs stretched her leathers tantalizingly as she danced out of reach. “Why don’t you ask nicely? Say please?”

“I didn’t know anyone had to ask you to be a slut,” Peter replied, stepping closer to her, hands lifted, ready for another grip. His fingers twitched. No matter where they landed—what a grip it would be!

Felicia moved back. The balcony was deserted this time of night, tables stripped bare. She slipped past one, then another, temporarily putting them between her and Peter.

“You’ll ask. You’ll beg. I’m worth it. Just ask your friend Parker. Maybe you can share me—he can have my ass, of course. He’s earned it.”

She kept her distance, waiting for Peter to make the first move, barely able to keep from smiling. Despite her protests, Felicia liked how interested he was. She wanted to see how much of a fight she could put up and still have him pursue her.

“What a schmuck. He could’ve just taken it.” Peter lunged, both arms wide.

He caught Felicia around the waist and forced her to the floor. She thrashed against him, hitting his head and shoulders with fisted hands, but she didn’t use her claws and she knew she wasn’t strong enough to hurt him.

“Bad kitty!” Peter grabbed her flailing arms and jammed them against the floor. “You know what happens to those, don’t you? They get declawed!”

He forced her arms to their full extension, holding them down at the wrists. Felicia’s breasts jostled as she was stretched like a torture victim on the rack—although all Peter really did was bring her tits up to their full prominence.

Felicia rolled her lower body out from under him, trying to pull her arms along with it. “Bastard!”

Peter hauled her back by forcing her wrists up and over her head, holding her arms in a vertical line up from her shoulders. She fought every inch of the way and was overwhelmed every inch of the way.

“Tell me you don’t want to be fucked by a bastard.”

Felicia looked into his eyes—the lenses that covered him—her own excitement in the reflection. She couldn’t bring herself to do that. Much as it frustrated her to be overcome this way… it was so much better than being ignored.

“Eat shit, you son of a bitch,” she told Peter in lieu of asking him to stop.

Women.