Prompt: Black Cat's Big Swing (Patreon)

Tags: Extreme weight gain, stuffing, sex, fatspeak

This one was fun! Hope you all enjoy it. I was writing this one through a bit of a migraine, so I hope the usual quality is there.

“Hey, Pete.” Felicia Hardy, the charming rouge known as Black Cat, said to her lunch companion as she slid into the booth. Her movements were fluid and slick like her alter ego’s namesake. She was lathered in grace and charm, the kind of thing that had pulled in many unwary victims. She seemed not to touch the booth, her perfect skin resting several inches above the less than clean fast food furniture. This was even more impressive given the several hundred extra pounds the bombshell was carrying. Rather than a sleek example of slim femininity, the cat burglar presented something decidedly more round and heavy. Felicia was fat, nearing 300 pounds if not slightly exceeding it. Her plush poundage rested on her body, enhancing her curves to the extreme rather than masking them. Her breasts nearly touched the table, whilst her hips and ass bunched up against the back of the booth. “Bleh, I hate having to call you that.” She made a face, sticking out her tongue to Peter.

“I’m open to pet name suggestions. How about “hunk”, “loverboy”, or “good lookin”? Those all seem like winners to me.” Peter Parker, New York’s signature wall crawler, found it easier to communicate with Felicia through quips than straight conversation. He had no trouble admitting that a woman of Felicia’s beauty, intelligence, and keen intellect intimidated him in a sexy way. With her he truly did feel like a spider, just one that was being toyed with by a large and hungry cat. One wrong move and Felicia would lose interest and discard him. . .or worse. His only comforts were the curves of her body and the knowledge that, for today at least, she was still talking to him.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that one.” Felicia rolled her eyes. As a tax for his bad joke, she reached over and grabbed a fistful of french fries off of his plate. Pete welcomed the action, knowing exactly what it would lead to later. In her quest for further sexual exploration and liberation, Felicia had discovered feederism. The thrill of “ruining” the body that had won her both romantic acclaim and material wealth was second only to making use of Spider-Man for carnal ends. The silver haired woman had thrown herself into the lifestyle with little looking back. She ate around the clock, even slowing her nocturnal burglary activities in order to hold onto more calories. Spider-Man and New York was grateful for the lessened crime rate, whilst Felicia and Peter were grateful for extra folds to grasp onto in bed. “God, theseech are. . .mmggph. . .fawking dischgusting. . .” Felicia moaned as she pounded the fries back. Ketchup dripped onto her outfit, a small droplet of red on a field of yellow fabric.

She wore daring, punklike street clothes. A yellow crop top with Betty Boop framed front and center was terrifically distorted by her large breasts and paunch. Her stomach rolled the shirt up whilst her torpedo tits stretched it to threadbare status. The face of the cartoon icon was starting to rip down the middle, further exposing the soft expanses of fat. Felicia was incredibly proud that she had not made an initial cut to start the rip, her mammaries simply provided for her. Likewise, the formerly slim cat was proud of the fact that her panty lines were showing even through jean shorts. The thick fabric was nothing compared to the weight and size of her ass. Felica’s doughy bottom forced the shorts to conform to every fold, line, and dimple of her buttcheeks. Her stomach was free to flow forward, resting on top of the booth. The large, round, plump dumpling came in and out like the tides as its obese owner stole more and more fries off of her lover’s plate.

“You know, Felicia, you could always buy your own.” Pete said, sardonic smile crossing his face. The web slinger couldn’t help but take pleasure in paying her back for all the teasing he had endured over the years. It mattered little that the silver haired thief was enjoying both extreme weight gain and his gibes.

“And. . .mmgghp. . .would the. . . .mmpgh. . .fun in that be?” Felicia asked, hardly looking at Peter as she reached over and grabbed the large burger. It took her two attempts. The first was met with failure because Felicia’s stomach bunched up on the table. The doughy expanse caught the flimsy board of faux-wood and bunched up. The table bisected her gut, forcing the single roll into two. Peter stifled a laugh as he saw Felicia’s eyes open wide. She was still unused to moving with so much fat. She had been such a lithe and dangerous acrobat her whole life that it was hard to remember she was in the process of losing all of those abilities. She sat back down in a surprised huff, bench creaking under her weight. Felicia immediately tried again, not wanting to give Peter too much satisfaction. The second attempt went better, with Felicia standing. While the table moved under her bulk, she at least was able to secure her prize. She sat with the burger, clutching the fluffy bun in manicured hands.

“Well, I probably wasn’t going to finish that.”

“You definitely aren’t now. And I would watch that tongue.” Felicia bit into the burger, ketchup and other toppings pouring out of the sides. “Otherwische, your carrying. . .mmppgh. . . me home.”

“Can do, but only if you need it.” Peter flexed, which earned him a fry being tossed at his head.

---

“Uuufffhh. . .hu-hurry. . .haaah. . .it uup. . .Spider.” Felicia wheezed, throwing a flabby hand in the air. She brought it down atop a mound of fat. Felicia’s bodily undertaking hadn’t slowed in the least over the months and years since its inception. Rather that slowing her weight gain after reaching a suitable point, Felicia had discovered that there was no suitable point to stop. She had to keep going, pushing her body further and further. Outfits ripped, furniture collapsed, even car tires had popped under her flowing girth. At nearly half a ton, Felicia’s mobility was gone in the same way that her career as a costumed adventurer was gone. She was simply a fat woman now. A lardball who possessed an uncanny appetite for food and sex. “I caaahnt. . .fffuuh. . .wait thissch. . .long.” The mass of fat, dotted with a mane of silver hair, wheezed as she begged. It was maybe unbecoming of her, especially given her past, but that was part of the fun. Felicia got into character as an immobile fucktoy the same way she had gotten into character as a femme fatale.

“Sorry, Miss!” Peter said, dressed in his own costume. “Gotta take proper safety precautions, just like the rides at the fair.” He tipped an imaginary hat before returning to spinning his webs. Peter drew forth soft stands of webbing from his shooters, weaving them into strong chords. His strange, metahuman instinct allowed him to perfectly build structures with it. Currently, he was wrapping it around his lardy lover’s back. The webbing had been used to catch hundreds of things heavier than the wheezing, sweating, doughy woman but Peter was not taking any chances that night. Whilst Felicia was a risk taker, Peter was not. He ran the line around Felicia’s upper back, letting the soft silk catch between her innumerable back folds. This current strand joined with many others, helping to form the gigantic swing.

“A fat. . . lady and her. . . carnival worker. What. . . a pair. . .” Felicia’s sensual moaning dropped just long enough for her to quip. She quickly returned to self-stimulation, straining her legs in order to make her thighs clap. A simple action for anyone not possessing legs as thick as industrial pipes, Felicia could only do it twice before having to rest. She needed to save her strength anyway, she wanted to be able to give it all to her lover that night. As soon as he finished his construction their fun would begin. Currently, however, he was embroiled with his task. Little by little the silken webs were trailed across her cascading rolls. Her back from shoulders to bed crushing ass were covered in a network of strands. She tested them, leaning back as much as she could. Her chins slopped down onto her chest, filling the space where her breasts might have been had gravity not pulled them to either side. She was amazed to find that every bit of her poundage was supported. Thanks to Peter’s webbing and ingenuity, the immobile woman was free to lounge high in a swing made of slightly sticky webbing.

“Okay, that takes care of you.” Peter said, walking around from behind her. Felicia drifted back and forth in her swing, able to see only a small halo of light from the city; the rest of her vision focused on her bulbous folds. “Just one last thing for me!” The costumed hero clapped his hands together, drawing a final strand of web. He slung it under Felicia’s gut, hoisting the plateau of blubber upwards. As Peter hauled it upwards, Felicia’s true treasure was revealed. A wet, glistening pussy greeted the building top. It shone invitingly, reflecting the lights of the city. The former thief gasped as she felt the cool night air moving around her most treasured and secret spot. She almost said something to Peter, but did not want to slow him down. She so badly wanted to feel him against her body. The time for quips and taunts had passed. Now it was time for intimacy.

Sensing the same, Peter glided over to Felicia. As one final move before beginning, he pulled up his mask and kissed her. His face swam in heavy cheeks, puffy lips, and chin fat. She kissed back as she was able, but even that soon tired her out. Felicia had a boundless desire for sex and lovemaking, but no stamina for it. She needed to be fucked, and was at Spidey’s mercy for it. It was delightfully depraved. Felicia had always wanted more of the wall crawler, now she had no choice but to depend on him. She wouldn’t have even been able to get out of bed had he not lifted and carried her up to the top of the building. Peter pulled away, leaving to begin the true activity of the night. Felicia spent precious seconds still kissing the air as he broke contact. The bit of time she spent waiting for Peter to begin was agony. Her pussy throbbed with pent up desire and excitement. Her nipples contracted, becoming pennies on her otherwise gigantic white breasts. She could hear the sounds of the city below her, people passing below her swing without even knowing what was going on. She hoped that someone had good enough eyes to see how great her sandbag sized asscheeks looked. More depraved thoughts might have come to her, but she felt Peter mounting her.

Peter’s first thrust could have been stronger, but he was a little afraid to test his web-swing. Were it to break, the two of them would be sent plummeting down to an uncertain fate. Spider-Man had caught many falling damsels before, but none of those women had weighed the same as a juvenile elephant. Peter was sure he could pleasure Felicia, but less sure that he could catch her. Yet, as he plunged his cock into Felicia, Peter’s notions of safety soon evaporated. She was addicting in any form or state. Whether she weighed 110 pounds or 910 pounds mattered little, Felicia Hardy was the most exciting sex that Peter had ever had. He glided in and out, member slickened well. The momentum built with each pump, the swing moving forward and backward. Peter could do little other than power the debauchery, his hips acting as an engine for the swing. Felicia could do even less. She huffed and moaned, thick fingers wrapped around webbing. She could only see parts of Spidey, instead looking at her shaking mound of gut fat. Yet, she felt him and his power.

“Harder. . .Scchpider. . .fuucck me. . .haaa-harder!” She cried, hoping that someone would hear her over the din of the city. She wanted the world to know that she, a whale of a woman, had landed one of the world’s superheroes. The swing moved in a wide arch, having reached an apex. All the same, Peter kept pumping. His body was contorted, trying to find the most leverage on the ropey strands. Whilst he pleasured Felicia’s inner thighs with his cock, Peter kissed and sucked on her underbelly. It was his favorite part of her folds. Having not seen the light of day in months, the underside of Felicia’s monolithic stomach was impossibly soft. It was like pudding wrapped in a soft bag. His strokes continued at a furious pace, seeking not only to bring the two of them to joint climax, but also to jiggle her body as much as possible.

“Come on. . .cuuuhhmmm oonn. . .harder!” Felicia moaned, not caring that one of the web strands had broken under her weight and Peter’s thrusting. She wanted it dangerous. She wanted to ride every edge that she could possibly find. For Felicia, life wasn’t fun unless she was on the precipice of life or death. Another strand broke and her heart raced. She could feel the orgasm coming, welling up within her. She tried to hold on, avoid the inevitable end. The former burglar wanted another strand to break. She prayed that she might feel one give, forcing her head backwards or her butt to sag lower in the swing. She got her wish, with one of the stands that supported her ham sized calves giving way. Her body became lopsided, rolling in the swing. Peter was either too busy fucking her to notice or had past the point of being able to stop, Either way, it was the debauchery that she needed to reach a final climax. She screamed her orgasm, moaning until forced to stop to gather her breath again. On cue, the strap holding her gut up gave way. It slammed down with a wet slap, barring Peter entrance until the next time she was in the mood.

“God. . .that wasscch. . .too good.” She wheezed, feeling Peter crawl up her body. “I. . .ooooh. . .wouldn’t get. . .hoo. . .too comfy. . .” Felicia winked at her lover, chins compressing into one. “I think my. . .assch is about. .  to fall through.”