BUT SUPER-VILLIANS PREFER REDHEADS, CHAPTER ONE: THE SYMBIOTE RELATIONSHIP, WIP, 20/05/2018 (Patreon)

CHAPTER ONE:  THE SYMBIOTE RELATIONSHIP

by JR / ksennin

ksennin@gmail.com

Based upon a story by David Michelinie and Todd McFarlane.  Now without censoring.

DISCLAIMER: This story is an adult-themed parody of the Marvel Comics's comic book.  Spider-Man and all related characters are property and copyright of Marvel Comics.  No copyright infringement is intended.  

WARNING: This story contains adult themes and explicit descriptions of extreme sexual events.  NO MINOR SHOULD READ THIS.  If you are below your country's age of legal majority, kindly bugger off.  

THE SYMBIOTE RELATIONSHIP

PART 1:  LIFE IS A RUNWAY 

The workers kept fidgeting with the myriad components of the complex light and sound systems, the many factors that would ensure a successful performance from the technical side of the upcoming event, yet their work was somehow never finished, routinely delayed each time the staccato rapport of high heels over the extended platform signaled the start of yet another rehearsal run.

Tall and tanned and young and lovely in a healthy, all-American way that was set-off by a hint of the exotic, the wild and daring in her expressive green eyes, in how she carried herself, the girl from Montoursville, Pennsylvania, went walking down the raised runway, and each technician she passed with her long strides and graceful sway forgot what he was working on or what he was supposed to do.

Standing by the waiting area, the tall blonde pursed her lips with disgust.

"What do you think?  One ten?  One twenty, even?"

The short-haired brunette shrugged.  "One twenty-five.  Maybe more."

"At what?  Five eight?  Five seven?"

"If that.  She's barely tall enough."

"She's such a fat pig.  Really."

"Most of that on her tits, too.  Must be, what, two, three pounds?  Each?"

"It's like this was some Hefner thing."

"God.  What are they thinking?  This whole thing is going to hell.  It used to be only high echelon, elite girls.  But now?  Any slut with an Instagram is a model.  I mean, look at her!  What's she done before?"

"Some hamburger spot, I think."  

Both laughed at the ridiculousness of it.  As if any of them would ever be caught near one of those things.

"And they can't be real.  The tits."

"Real?  Hello!  That big?  That perky?  Please!  Fake for sure."

"Must've had other work done, too.  The cheekbones.  The nose."

"You think so?"

"Had to.  Just too...  nice.  Too perfect.  And that butt?  Be real."

"Actually, I kinda dig her butt.  It's so nice and tight."

"No way anything natural can be that tight.  Nothing."

"What a drag."

"And is that spray tan?  I so hope not."

"Can gingers even tan?"

"She's probably not even a real redhead."

A nasal voice reverberated through the loudspeaker array:  "Once again, dear.  Slower on the turn.  More attitude.  This is Victoria's, girl.  It's all about attitude."

The blonde snorted with well-practiced ease.  "Attitude, my ass.  It's all about who got blown."

"You got some?"

"Uh?"

"Blow?"

"Blown, I said, you silly cunt.  I mean, she must've swallowed so much dick to get here, put on ten pounds just from cum."

"Oh, god, that's a thing?  For real?"

"Bitch.  It's not just food you gotta puke after."

"Oh, fuck."

"Shut up.  Here's she."  Her mouth smiled, but her eyes did not.  "Mary Jane!  You're killing it, baby."

****************************************************************

"That one.  Who is she?"

"She's new, Sir."

A dossier was quickly handed over.  He always liked it like that, in paper.  Old school.

But he did not look at the papers.  His eyes were on the girl, and would not budge.

"Her name?"

"Watson.  Mary Jane Watson, Sir."

"Mary Jane."  He drummed on the armrest with thick fingers.  "Yes.  Yes."

"There's also... the Aussie blonde, Sir.  New, too.  And younger.  She's next up.  Her agency sent-"

"No.  No need.  She'll do."

****************************************************************

"Ok, here I go again.  Wish me luck, girls."  

"Go own that, MJ!"

"Work it, girl!"

"Break a leg!"

"For real," the blonde added between the teeth of her so-called smile, watching the redhead stride away again.

"Oh, you so nasty."

"You talk about nasty?  You saw the boyfriend?  Came earlier?  Loooser!"

"Really?  That... bad?  I kinda thought-"

"Don't say he was cute.  You think everyone with a dick is cute."

"He WAS cute."

"Look, bitch:  Cheap clothes.  I'm talking Wallmart.  Payless.  And not like, ironic."

"I just-"

"Said he's a photographer.  But the newspaper kind.  Newspaper.  Get it?"

"Newspapers?  They still have that?"

"And for the record: bulge-radar?  Not impressive.  At all.  And believe me, I looked."

"Oh.  What a bummer."

"Total loser-ville.  Even she deserves better.  Really.  Girl's gotta trade up.  Or dump.  Right away.  I'm talking totally Star 80 and all that."

"Star what?"

"Forget it.  So what do you think, saline or silicon?"

****************************************************************

It was late.  The rehearsal had taken forever, but Mary Jane Watson walked briskly on the New York sidewalks, brimming with energy, with effervescent enthusiasm.  

This was her big break.  This was her chance to get to another level.

She had been so scared at first.  All those girls were gorgeous.  And thin.  So thin.  

But she knew well how she looked in lingerie.  She knew how men looked at her.  And most girls, too.  

This could make the difference.  For both of them.

No more overdue bills.  No more money headaches.  A better apartment.  A better everything.

No more no-paying shoots that no one ever saw, too.  No more obscure store catalogs.  And no more shady offers.  

****************************************************************

"Your limo's outside, Sir."  

He nodded, then glanced back at the now empty stage.  "Make it happen."

"Yes, Mister Fisk."

PART 2:  HITTING THE JACKPOT 

"I don't know about this."

"Oh, you'll do great, Peter.  I'm sure."

"But...  here?  Like this?"

"I know you've got it in you, Tiger.  I know you can."

"I just never-"

"I'm here!  I'm hot!  I'm willing!  Take advantage!"

"You ARE hot, yes, but-"

"Oh, please!  How hard can it be?"

Much harder than she thought, actually.  

****************************************************************

People always said exercise could provide relief.

It did not.

Each push was about him.

Each pull, each tug, was about him.

Each grunt, each groan was about him.

Always about him.

****************************************************************

"Er...  Arch your back, can you?"

"Like this?"

"Yeah, but...  Move your leg a bit, please.   No, the other way."

"Which other way?  Where-?"

"There.  There.  That's fine."

"Fine?"

"Great.  You're great.  Just stay still now, ok?  Just let me-"

"Sure, Tiger.  Take your time."

"Are you comfortable?  I wouldn't want you to-"

"I'm fine, Peter.  Just..  go ahead.  It's ok."

"Are you?  Really?"

"It's alright, Tiger.  Take it."

"I mean, if you aren't-"

"Peter, relax.  I'm ok.  Just do it."

"I'm doing it.  I'm doing it."  He frowned, shifting the angle.  "Just look at me while I-"

"Like this?"

"Uh, yeah.  I think so.  Wait, I think-"

She sighed.  What was there to think?

He froze at her sigh.  It spoke so much.  "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, just-"

"I really-"

"Go on.  Don't stop."

He stepped back, breathing out.  "This... isn't working."

"What?"

He shook his head.  "I can't."

"Come on, Peter!  You can.  Just-"

"I just can't get the right...  It's not how I thought it'd-I...  I just can't."  

She straightened, tossing her long red hair to a side.  "What is it?  Is it me?"

"No, no, it's not you.  You're beautiful, MJ, you know that.  Everyone knows that.  But it's not-"

"I do this all the time, you know.  It's not THAT hard."

"For you, maybe.  But-"

"What do you mean with that?"

"I don't mean anything, just that-"

"I mean, why can't you?  It's not the first time you've-"

"Not like this.  It's not the same."

"So you can go ahead and do it all over the city, in your costume, even, but not like this with me?"

"It's different!"

Mary Jane breathed in deeply.  She had to be supportive.  "What if I took it off?"

"What?"

"The clothes.  All of them.  Would that help?  To grab your eye?"

"You'd want to-?"

"Why not?  It's no biggie.  I... I've been thinking about it a lot, really."

"You never told me.  Isn't that a bit too-?"

"Alright."  She shook her head and looked away.  "Forget it.  Forget I mentioned it.  Forget I ever suggested this.  Any of this."

"Look, I told you I wasn't-"

"Yes.  You did.  But I wanted you to try.  To do it with me.  To do it for me."

"I tried, alright?  Like you wanted to.  I did!  Even if I-"

"There's quite a few who'd want to have me like that, you know.  I've had many offers before."

"Well, if you really want to-"

"I wanted it to be you."  She walked towards the windows, staring at the New York citiscape outside.  "Was that wrong?"

"No!  No.  I...  I'm sorry.  It's just not my thing, MJ.  You know-"  

"Hefner's people, even!  But why can't my own-?"

"That's it!  Really!  You're a damned supermodel now and I'm just some guy who-"

"You are MY guy!"

"But you deserve better!"

She winced and turned around.  "You got grow past this insecurity of yours.  If I could make it-"

"It's not insecurity.  I just know I'm no good for-"

"What the hell do know?  About anything?"

"That's my point!"  

"We're together, Peter!  We're MARRIED!  What does that tell you?"

Peter grimaced, placing the camera back into its case.  "That you have lousy taste?"

Mary Jane shook her head.  She was finally making it big.  Why couldn't he get it together, too?

"Peter, do you know many morons make a great living with this?  Just taking pics of hot women like me?  Just that!  How is that more difficult than risking your life fighting freaks in tights?"

Why couldn't he see that? 

****************************************************************

The powerful artificial appendage struck hard, just where he had been, crouching on the wall's vertical surface.  Broken bricks and plaster scattered all over.

"Don't you have enough property damage already in your rap sheet?"

"I'LL GETCHA, YA BUG!"

"You know, spiders aren't..."  

"GETCHA YA!"

Once again, the extensible tail demolished another patch of masonry.

"Don't you get tired of this?  I can keep dodging that thing of yours all night.  Wait, that came out wrong."

Another blow, another hole in the wall.  Pink Floyd fan?  He jumped higher, far from reach.

"Really, Gargan, you've got to rethink this whole image of yours.  I, mean, come on, look at the Rhino, or Doc Ock.  They have the right idea.  But you?  Do you really want your phallic symbol to be coming out of your ass?"

"SMART-ASS!"

He jumped and dove low and actually slid between Gargan's legs, webbing the tip of the Scorpion's bludgeoning tail as it sought to follow him, and giving some extra pull on it.  

Gargan gasped and fell. 

"Now that's got to smart there, yep."

He smiled under the mask.  This is what he was good at.  This is what he was about.  Who he was.  Spider-Man.

Why couldn't she see that? 

****************************************************************

Journalism.  That is what he was good at.  That is what he was about.  Who he was.  A journalist.  

Until he had ruined everything.  Him.  Spider-Man.

It was all the damn show-off's fault.

But now he could make Spider-Man pay.  Oh, he would make him pay.  

He would make sure he lost everything he had.  Everything he cared about.  Just as he done to him.

Just as he had done to... us.

TO BE CONTINUED