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A Year Older But Not An Hour Richer
🕑 Added 2020-05-29 21:00:01 +0000 UTC
Mary Jane felt spoiled and she mostly loved it. It was Peter’s birthday, but the way they’d just celebrated it had hardly been a present for him alone. Now, resting in his arms, MJ thought about how strange her own year of life would be when her birthday rolled around. Once, torn between party girl MJ and her private pain, she would’ve vacillated between wondering how anyone like Spider-Man could ever want her and arrogantly wondering why she should settle for him instead of Thor?
Now, though, she was coolly confident. He didn’t just want her. He needed her. And even if she was a little uncertain why he would choose her over a host of other women, many of whom looked even better than her in skintight spandex, she was determined to live up to her end of the bond they shared. And speaking of living it up…
She pulled herself free of Peter and slipped under the covers of their bed, crawling down his body to his limp manhood.
Peter watched as the lump of Mary Jane’s body—curves exciting even through a down comforter—traveled along the length of the mattress. “MJ? Don’t hurt yourself now. I feel like you’ve done enough for one present.”
“You’re just saying that,” the lump of MJ’s head said through the comforter. “I know you can go longer. Why shouldn’t you? It’s your birthday.”
“Don’t pull a hamstring,” Peter said. “You know, you’re going to make me feel really bad if your birthday rolls around and I’m busy fighting Galactus.”
“Then let’s see what you can do to make up for it in advance…” She sucked him into her mouth, tonguing his cockhead, then nursing her lips to his glans.
Peter hardened inside of Mary Jane’s expectant grin. She credited some of that to skill, but she also knew that Peter had plenty of stamina to go around. Otherwise, she wouldn’t even have considered sharing him.
“Ah geez,” Peter groaned. “Okay. That’s it. No more of the Swedish Bikini Team for me. You’re the only girl I need, MJ.”
Mary Jane hummed approvingly as she sucked harder, his manhood swelling and throbbing against every corner of her mouth. For obvious reasons, he was the only man she needed as well. But it was his birthday and birthdays weren’t about needs. They were all wants.
So, although she wanted him to come down her throat—for starters—she needed to stop. Mary Jane pulled away from him, emerging back at the headboard to leave a tented erection throbbing hard enough to send quivers through all the bed’s sheeting.
Peter groaned with the blooming heat that was now going unattended in his groin. “What’s going on, Mary Jane? Is something wrong? You know that Swedish Bikini Team thing was just a joke, right?”
“Relax, tiger. I’m not done with you by a long shot. I just thought it’d be rude not to share.”
“Share?” Peter asked.
“Happy birthday, Mr. President…” Felicia drawled, her trademark slinky voice now huskier than ever. “Is this a private party or can I give the birthday boy my present now?”
There was no telling how long ago Felicia had crept into the room, waiting to flaunt herself, wearing not her traditional costume but a set of lingerie that put her usual skimpiness to shame. A black bra and panties, studded with rhinestones to fit her taste in other people’s jewelry, cinched comfortably around her bust and hips, while still not seeming to have nearly enough fabric to contain her bold curves. Dark stockings relieved the paleness of her creamy body, as her long tapered legs seemed endless and they would be blinding in their milky whiteness without some contrast. And of course she wore her mask, her fur-lined gloves, more fetishistic than ever now without her catsuit giving her even a modicum of clothedness.
Mary Jane was naked, but she hardly felt underdressed in the face of such an outright proposition of an outfit. Felicia had come to their birthday bash intent on taking no prisoners.
“Jesus, Felicia, Jesus—this is—even for you, this is—“ Peter was actually turning red, reaching to take his webshooters off the nightstand and put them on. Mary Jane realized with a start that he was defending her honor. She felt touched, and also a bit chagrinned. How much more did she have to spell it out for the guy? When she called him tiger, it was supposed to be because he was fierce, not a reference to mental acuity.
She decided to give him a hint, taking advantage of their current circumstances to literally grab Peter’s attention.
“MJ!”
“Relax, Peter. I invited her,” Mary Jane cooed, stroking him lightly now, nice even strokes that she could see Felicia’s eyes following avidly, like a cat watching a canary fluttering around in its cage. Well, she’d get her shot at this bird soon enough. “In case your spider-sense didn’t tell you, as much as you enjoyed getting your present this year, I might’ve enjoyed giving it to you even more.”
“And they call me greedy,” Felicia purred, drawing closer and closer in a way that demanded Peter’s eye even as Mary Jane’s pumping hand asked for his attention still more.
“It makes me feel self-serving, you know, getting you a present that I enjoy more than you.”
“You enjoy it when I come in your face?” Peter asked. Then his eyes went to Felicia not because of her sultry strides, but to see if she’d taken any notice of their dirty laundry being aired.
Felicia laughed, the motion shaking her breasts in their silk confines until it was a wonder they stayed in their appointed place. “Has my favorite ginger been letting you think that she does that as some kind of courtesy to you? Oh, Spider, there really is one born every minute.”
“My point is, tiger, that I wanted to do something for you that was just for you, that you can be totally greedy and self-indulgent and id-y with.”
Felicia slid into the bed beside Mary Jane, running her hands under the covers but over Mary Jane’s sun-kissed skin, her sumptuous curves. “Be honest, red. It’s not like you’re going to be suffering in silence while the two of us make a Peter sandwich.” She brushed her lips along Mary Jane’s freckled cheek until she reached the redhead’s succulent lips and Mary Jane gave into the kiss, accepting Felicia’s tongue deep into her mouth.
Felicia pulled back halfway through the moaning, burning kiss, leaving Mary Jane panting slightly, a red flush across her nose, her lips still wetly parted. “That’s the problem with dating actors. Professional liars. I bet she even lets you think she doesn’t like it up the ass.”
Peter’s face, having watched the kiss with understandable interest, now assumed a wondering expression. “She did say that if I painted the living room…”
Comments
Warfster
Just what the doctor prescribed to wash away all the Knulls and blue balling Kindreds of the universe.
Shendude
This is fun.
