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Preview (and a reminder that I write Peter/Gwen/MJ as soon as we hit 950 in pledges)
🕑 Added 2020-07-28 00:00:00 +0000 UTC
Felicia moaned in satisfaction as she gulped down every drop of wine her tongue could find, though the tenor of her voice made it clear she found the touch of Mary Jane’s pale skin far more appetizing than the fine wine. Meanwhile, Peter collected the wine, not swallowing, but filling his mouth with the peevish intensity he seemed to bring to any important project.
Then, all of a sudden, his hand was in Felicia’s platinum hair, wrenching her head back. Before Mary Jane could truly realize why both their sucking mouths had quit pleasuring her nipples, Peter was spitting the wine in Felicia’s face. Mary Jane was shocked at the disrespect of the gesture, even if it was mostly wine rather than saliva—surely that was too kinky, even for Felicia. But then Peter used his handhold on Felicia’s hair to jerk her face up to Mary Jane’s and she kissed her passionately. Mary Jane was even more shocked by how aroused Felicia was, judging by the kiss. It was as though the slight had actually turned Felicia on, whereas Mary Jane would’ve been apoplectic if Peter treated her that way.
What’s gotten into him? Mary Jane wondered. Or her?
But the questions she asked herself quickly fell on deaf ears. Felicia’s lips were too enticing, as were Peter’s as he chased the trickles of wine down lean belly, his tongue tickling its way into the gentle dimple of her navel. Perhaps the gesture, as shocking as it was, had some hidden or fetishistic meaning between Peter and Felicia that she wasn’t privy too. And it did seem rather fitting. Mary Jane was Peter’s wife, entitled to respect and trust, while at least for tonight, Felicia was his mistress. Of course he would treat her like… like…
Mary Jane didn’t want to think of it in any sexist terms. A little dirty talk was fine—she’d definitely called Peter a bastard, a motherfucker, a son of a bitch in the heat of the moment, without meaning any of it, of course. But she wouldn’t want to really think of Felicia as a slut, even if she was a rival, especially in as intimate a moment as this. Far better to just give in to the kisses Felicia placed on her lips and that Peter left on her tummy, and leave recriminations alone with all the other hang-ups she had resolved not to entertain tonight.
