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Ending at Beginnings chapter 5
🕑 Added 2020-01-14 13:34:50 +0000 UTC“Yeah, I do,” Spider replied. “Bend over.”
Felicia didn’t think. She just did it, twisting off the toilet and bending over the side of the bathtub so her hips were in the air. She could sense Spider’s admiration as he stared at her fat ass—just the thing to balance out her huge tits. Then she felt his stiff, cum-soaked prick slap against her buttocks. Felicia acquired a wicked grin.
“By the way,” Spider asked, suddenly grasping her white hair and wrenching her head back. “Who does your throat belong to?”
“You,” Felicia crooned out, the pain arousing her, electrifying her. Maybe she was a cliché, but there was just something about a guy who was a real son of a bitch. And surely this was better than dating someone like Venom or Sandman. Spider might be a bad boy, but he was no villain. Was he?
“Damn straight. Now let’s find out about the rest of you.”
He pressed his engorged cockhead against the gates of her slit and pushed into her, but stopped just as she began to spread.
“That’s mine,” he said. “We know that already. What about this?”
He moved the huge knob of his prick up to her clenched asshole. Felicia gasped as she felt its bulk dwarfing her tiny little hole. Peter never would’ve done this before, not even if she’d begged. Too afraid of hurting her. Now he didn’t seem to give a damn if it hurt so long as she came. The same priorities as Felicia.
“Is this mine?” Spider teased her.
“Yes,” Felicia said with a happy sigh. “I want it to be yours. I want it in the ass, Spider. I want you to buttfuck me, sodomize me. I want my ass to be full of your cum.”
He pushed, grimacing as he opened her tiny tight anus up with his throbbing erection. Felicia gave a hoarse moan of pleasure as her resistance was overcome, even her flesh submitting to him. He was filling her up—impaling her. Despite how big he was, the fit seemed perfect, as perfect as they were for each other. Felicia’s eyes rolled back in her head; she was on the verge of coming already. Her thoughts ran away from her—she didn’t need to be a slut anymore. She didn’t need any other man or any other woman. She just needed him.
Then Spider withdrew from her.
“Why should I care what you want?” he asked, and left her on the edge of climax, the first orgasm of many, her asshole splayed open—surrendered to his cock, but no longer wanted.
Spider had turned and left the room.
Felicia laid there, coming to another realization as she waited for her cunt to stop boiling. She’d been used to seducing Spider-Man. Getting him to want her body, her pussy, her tits—all the things he now ‘owned.’ But that wasn’t all Spider wanted now. Now he wanted to dominate her as well. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted that as well.
***
“Stop! Thief!”
Peter had been having one hell of a good day. Obviously, there was the thing with Mary Jane—even if he couldn’t go toe to toe with Firelord anymore, he’d felt this second wind after they’d consummated their reunion. It was the damnedest thing. He’d felt totally drained… like, Captain Marvel drained… and then it was like he hadn’t had sex in months. Not that Mary Jane had complained.
He’d also had the strangest urge to fuck MJ’s face. Mary Jane, with her own personal spider-sense as to his moods and feelings, had quickly gotten the idea. Just like that, her hair was up in a bun and she was glugging him down like she was at a kegger. There’d been no third wind, aside from an odd desire for Mary Jane’s ass—not too weird, considering her pert little ass. Mary Jane had been more than content to have him return the favor, relishing the sweet taste of her cunt without having to worry about any… additives. Score one for anal sex.
It was the kind of thing Peter could get bogged down in for one or more eternities, so while Mary Jane slept it off, he went to the coffee shop on the corner to go over his course work for Dr. Connors. Now that he’d gotten this new lease on life sans Spider-Man, he didn’t want to fall back into the same old routine of flaking on everyone and everything. Not when he didn’t have saving the city as an excuse.
And then stop. Thief. None of his business. Just a purse snatcher. There must’ve been a million in New York. Could’ve had a gun. Could’ve had a knife. And he had no powers. Not even a costume.
Peter leapt out of his chair, hurdled the partition sectioning off the coffee shop’s outdoor seating, and took off. His mind raced—not at spider-sense speeds—he figured this was just an adrenaline high. He also figured that all the muscles that had once served as a foundation for his superstrength, the abs that made him look so good in skintight spandex, they were still there, only without the special sauce that sent his capabilities into the stratosphere. He could probably bench-press like crazy. He’d have to get a gym membership, and stop wolfing down the burgers and fries. It wouldn’t be so hard to keep being Kylo Ren shredded, so long as he did a little preventative maintenance…
Focus, Parker. No more spider-sense to warn you of danger, and not much point in coming up with quips. Just try to stop this one guy without getting yourself killed; that’ll be the end of it. It’s not like this ever happens to Tom Hanks…
He sprinted like mad, accompanied by sensations he was more used to when he was fighting Sentinels—his heart pounding, his breath coming fast and hard, the world darkening and shrinking in his vision. Christ, I’m gonna give myself a heart attack.
He caught up to the purse snatcher, threw himself at the fleeing man with a minimum of grace. More surprises: as they tumbled to the ground, hurt fountained out of where he impacted the pavement. He was no stranger to pain, but usually in situations like these, he landed in a cool little crouch instead of sprawling over the sidewalk. Just like that, he’d gone from doing ballet to football.
Not the best analogy. Then again, he had stopped wearing tights.
The purse snatcher wrestled his way free of Peter, giving him a kick to the breastbone that took the air out of his lungs. No! Can’t let him go! But before he could start summoning up his will and thinking of dead loved ones, other people were piling onto the thief. Someone said “Citizen’s arrest!” and the woman whose purse had been stolen came up on clicking heels, “Thief! Thief!” and finally, there was a cop when you needed one.
Peter slunk off, letting the dog-pile take the credit. He had to go get his homework before the wind threw it all over the street. But it was enough to make him wonder.
Even without powers, he still had—don’t laugh, Parker—a certain amount of grace under pressure. Experience with superhero stuff. A keen scientific mind. Could he really sit by and do nothing, just because he couldn’t personally punch evil in the face? Maybe he could—I don’t know—recruit a team of disenfranchised superheroes, use computer hacking to guide them around and tell them what to do. He would’ve loved to have someone to mentor him back when he was a growing superboy.
Yeah, and maybe the team can be all hot chicks in fishnet stockings. Get real. Whatever was left of the Initiative, SHIELD, the X-Men, the Avengers, they had the resources to train and command young cape types. Hacking? He barely had working wi-fi a lot of the time—that hadn’t seemed so important when he spent most of his time on a different kind of web.
Maybe he should open a Twitter account now. Make fun of supervillains from the safety of his phone.
Or maybe… last time he’d checked, the musical chairs with the symbiote had ended with the damn thing at the Baxter Building. Eddie was Anti-Venom, Mac Gargan was the Scorpion again, Flash was classified—maybe Carnage, for all Peter knew. But the symbiote had made Eddie Brock into a force even more powerful than Spider-Man. It could do the same for Peter. And it wasn’t totally uncontrollable. It could only be released in case of emergencies.
Yes, giving it free rein would lead to disaster, but Eddie and Flash had found some kind of equilibrium with it. Couldn’t Peter? It had always wanted him as its host. Surely that would be worth some concessions. An ix-nay on eating people. No going all Wrong Pair of Trousers when he was sleeping.
On the other hand, maybe he was just freaking out because after a lifetime of action, he was back to being Puny Parker again. He wasn’t so bad off. He had Mary Jane. He’d made plenty of friends in capes. Maybe he should just see if Jarvis needed any help loading the dishwasher at Avengers Tower, or wherever the team was keeping themselves nowadays. Or like MJ had said, volunteering at FEAST. Soup kitchens were generally safer than touching alien slime.
Or maybe they were a pathetic salve to him running away from his responsibilities. Maybe he didn’t have great power, but he could get it, and he could be trusted to use it. Wasn’t it better that he volunteer himself instead of waiting for Norman Osborn or some other psycho to be the next host?
A. Get the symbiote from the Fantastic Four.
B. Leave it be.
Comments
Shendude
Well this took an interesting turn.
