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Spider + Cat + Redhead update
🕑 Added 2017-05-01 19:59:20 +0000 UTCAs they left the apartment, a barrage of flashing cameras and shouted questions turned the usually sedate courtyard of Felicia’s hotel into something between a riot and a warzone. For a moment, Peter’s mind was its own inferno of insecurity—that somehow, someone had found out. That everyone knew. That his being Spider-Man was now common knowledge and no one he knew would be safe ever again.
Then he realized that they were all shouting Mary Jane’s name. Paparazzi. He looked around, relieved, and was even more relieved to see that Felicia was also taken aback. Mary Jane, though, held her head high—Peter was actually somewhat proud of her as she hustled him and Felicia to the waiting limo service, oblique and untouchable in her huge sunglasses that Peter had found so risible a moment ago, issuing a steady stream of “No comments” until they were safely inside and underway.
“So,” Peter said, “I’m guessing this driver isn’t a Russian spy…”
“One hopes,” Felicia added.
Mary Jane whipped her sunglasses off. Underneath, her eyes were probably the only ones there that weren’t dilated. “Sorry about that. Maury sent me a text about the marriage announcement getting out, but I had no idea it’d blow up this big. I thought the most it would be was my Facebook group buying us some cupcakes… it’s been ages since I even did TV.”
“Slow news day, I guess,” Felicia said. She was on her phone and Peter craned his head to see what she was looking up.
All the gossip sites had picked up the story and run with it at least a little ways, with more mainstream sites burying it to some extent—but never six feet deep. In newspaperman terms, they rarely made the front page, but the second page was quick to snatch them up, using pictures of Mary Jane from some of her risqué shoots, censored images of Felicia from a nude leak a few years back, and Peter’s driver’s license photo.
“Eeeeugh,” he groaned. Riding that scooter hadn’t been worth it. At least a few of the classier sites had dug enough to come up with some of the photos that had been taken of him for the publication of Webs.
“I didn’t know you had a leak,” Mary Jane said, commiserating to Felicia. “Sorry.”
“Not even my best stuff,” Felicia said. “That’s hackers for you.”
Mary Jane reached across the backseat to lower Felicia’s phone hand before she could look up any more of the articles on them. “Who knew people would care so much? I’m pretty much retired, after all.”
“Because you were such a thespian back in the day?” Felicia snarked, putting her phone away. “Honey, there are men in skintight costumes with laser eyes in the world. No one cares whether you were the best clothing model evah. They care about how freaky your shit is. Now you’re vaguely famous and have threesomes. That’s more than Kim Kardashian ever did.”
“I don’t want to be some kind of famous-for-being-famous tart,” Mary Jane replied. “No offense.”
“None taken. I wear skintight latex and rob people. You’d be surprised how little that gets you in the superhero world. But somehow Luke Cage became leader of the Avengers?”
“He sounds like Andre Braugher when he lowers his voice,” Peter said. “You just kinda want him in charge if Cap isn’t around. And MJ, you’ve gotta admit, there is a little bit of a perfect storm here. You’ve got the superhero angle with Felicia, the celebrity angle with you, the love child angle… take it from a reporter, they might not care about you, but they care what you’ve done.”
“Everyone’s obsessed with sex,” Felicia agreed. “And we’re implying an awful lot of sex.”
“Maybe you could finish getting dressed one morning,” Mary Jane teased.
“And take all the thrill out of your day?” Felicia raised her phone again. “It’s Peter’s fault, really. The whole ‘unassuming dude wins the lottery’ thing. It’s catnip for the male id.”
“I’m… not unassuming?” Peter said. “What’s unassuming even mean in this context?”
“It means you’re just an average guy, but you’ve married a supermodel who has married Catwoman,” Mary Jane said. “Somewhat unrealistic.”
“We lived in a superhero headquarters once.”
“Isn’t everywhere we live a superhero headquarters?”
Felicia interjected: “What can we do? Just let them have their fun and they’ll move on once the story dries up.”
“Exactly,” Peter agreed. “They’ll move on soon, because we’re not doing anything all that interesting…”
Mary Jane bit the nail of her pinky. Felicia licked her lips.
“Interesting to anyone but us,” Peter amended. “Behind closed doors. And, ah… you know… could it really be that interesting if they can’t even see or hear us doing it, they can only kinda assume we’re doing something?”
“Peter,” Felicia said, “you just described my rich fantasy life.”
***
Their breakfast reservation had leaked. Getting off at the curb, as they were forced to by the blockade of the restaurant’s valet service, had them running a gauntlet that rivaled a red carpet premiere. The assemblage of reporters had grown in mass and volume from the small crowd that had greeted them at the hotel, and some of them tried to get a rise by shouting vulgar questions, questions that were practically accusations.
Mary Jane had to loop her arm around Peter’s before his clenched fists turned into flying projectiles.
Felicia, though, accidentally drove her high heel practically through the top of one lout’s sneaker. For once she was glad she had the footprint of a water buffalo. She walked on as if not noticing and his pathetic attempt to take his dimpled shoe and bruised foot into an article would only sell as a mark of just how hungry the public was for more of this story.
The restaurant, Pangolia, was trendy enough that Felicia getting them a reservation was a minor miracle, and a strain even on her budget. Peter recognized several TV stars and trust fund kids among the dining crowd, one A-lister taking a lunch meeting, everyone famous or trying to be famous or trying not to be famous. He thought he felt their eyes on him, discussing him, dissecting him. He knew it was just paranoia; his spider-sense wasn’t going off. Still, he ordered wheatcakes as comfort food.
Felicia, on the other hand, was thriving on the gossip. “Listen to this!” She read from her phone. “Hot take from Vulture—MJ is really a lesbian, but the patriarchy is forcing her to pretend to still be in a relationship with Peter. Oh, what a tangled web…”
“So I’m in a gay marriage… but I still have a beard?” Mary Jane scoffed. “How is that any more believable than me actually being attracted to Peter?”
“Well, he doesn’t really dress to show off his best qualities,” Felicia reasoned. “Maybe if his pants were tighter…”
“If you’re talking about his other pants,” Mary Jane said, “I think they’re so tight they give people a complex. That’s why he gets framed as a murderer every ten minutes.”
“I wear a cup,” Peter said, indignant.
“Your cup runnith over.”
“Speaking of,” Mary Jane said, “just because we paid for a table, doesn’t mean we have to use the chairs.”
She got up from her chair and briskly seated herself on Peter’s lap, daintily crossing her ankles where they fell off Peter’s knees. Peter moved one hand to the small of her back to brace her, using the other to continue on his breakfast.
“You’re really rubbing your non-pregnant privilege in my face here,” Felicia said. “And my feet are too swollen to play footsie, too.”
“Here,” Peter said, dropping his fork and beckoning with his free hand. “I’m not hungry anyway.”
Felicia suspiciously raised her foot, with Peter taking it, unstrapping it from its shoe, and then giving her a foot massage. Felicia moaned happily as Mary Jane took Peter’s fork, impaled a helping of pancake, and offered it to his mouth. He took a grateful bite. It tasted delicious.
***
Rogue's heart thumped with wild excitement as she found herself alone in the big, sprawling apartment. Hers. It was practically hers, wasn’t it, with Mary Jane inviting her to… well… with Peter… like Felicia was… Felicia and Mary Jane and Ana… and her. And hers, this was hers, the man and the women and this place.
For some reason she got the urge to rip off all her clothes and run around the apartment naked, to scamper naked up the stairs and slide down the smooth, polished banister like a mischievous youth.
But as much as she felt like taking off all her clothes, Rogue didn't dare do so. What if Mary Jane had forgot something and returned home to discover her… recruit running around the apartment naked? What if the man of the house, Peter, came home? Or Felicia? She was on tenterhooks—she could be asked to leave this arrangement before it ever got started. Maybe she was being ridiculous, maybe seeing her in the living room naked would make Peter want to do nothing more than… well, her. But she didn’t want to risk anything. She didn’t want to take a single chance of derailing all this.
Rogue compromised by kicking off her shoes. Going barefoot was a liberating feeling, one that gave her a tingle between her thighs in the same way that going naked did.
She did the dishes barefoot. She wanted to prove her usefulness to the household, help out as best she could to show them she was no freeloader. Maybe she should go all the way and get a little French maid outfit. That seemed not quite as startling as going naked, while still being sexy. Next time she checked her e-mail, Rogue resolved to see if there were any stores that sold that sort of thing in the area. She had no idea what kind of stores would—a costume shop? Frederick’s of Hollywood? Some sort of service that catered to butlers and housekeepers? She might have to call ahead too.
When she finished the dishes, Rogue decided to explore her new home, a long overdue bit of snooping. She’d resisted the urge up till now, but with Mary Jane inviting her to be… oh God, was she Peter’s mistress, wouldn’t that be something?... she felt a little bit of nosiness was warranted.
She went through the bedrooms, tidying up. A little dusting, a little vacuuming, a little polishing. She changed the sheets, washing them all in one load and replacing them with fresh ones she found in a linen closet. The bathrooms hardly needed cleaning, but she went over them anyway, the busywork bleeding away her nervousness. By the time she had done, the washing machine was done with the sheets. She threw them in the drier and went to the last bed. The hidden one where Peter and Felicia and MJ and Ana had all…
All. That about summed it up.
She pulled the bed down and was immediately inundated with the sweaty male scent of it. Her heart thumped, each pulse sending tingles down her body. She ripped away the top sheet and the scent of dried cum and stale sweat hit her like a gust of wind.
“Mah God!” she whispered, unable to believe how her arousal was growing. She put her hands down on the tangled sheets, wishing they were still warm, and fisted her fingers in them. Her hands trembled. She lowered herself down onto her knees, then bent her head to the devastated bedspread and sniffed it. The scent of unwashed masculinity nearly knocked her over. Her sex clenched hard.
What am I doing? She thought desperately, and looked around to see if anybody was watching. Nobody. She’d half-expected to see Mary Jane standing there, arms crossed, judgment on her face. She saw nobody. The apartment was dead silent.
Still trembling, Rogue stripped the bed, carrying all but the mattress to the washing machine. She put everything in, started the machine up, then in a fit of whimsy she threw herself up onto the machine and sighed as its vibrations pulsed up into her. Yes. That was what she needed.
No. She needed more. She needed to sate herself, to take the edge off before Peter came home and she was too desperate even for a man who’d married the Black Cat.
She needed to take care of herself. Right now.
***
Mary Jane’s phone rang, long before Peter’s discomfort at their public display could begin to approach his enjoyment of it, his delight in MJ and Felicia’s happiness. Glancing at it quickly, her brow furrowed. “That’s Maury. He said he’d call me as soon as he got a spare moment… Peter, you don’t mind if…?”
“Go right ahead,” Peter told her.
Mary Jane patted him lovingly on the shoulder. “Bathroom,” she said quickly, perhaps not even realizing she’d spoken, and hurried off to take the call in private.
Peter watched her go, admiring both the boundless energy she poured into every aspect of her life, and the well-sculpted figure with which she did it.
“Here we go,” Felicia said, offering her other foot.
Peter took that shoe off as well and held her foot on his lap as he massaged. “What do you mean by that?”
“MJ taking a breather from her honeymoon to talk to her agent? That’s a little weird, don’t you think? And remember, I’m not Mrs. Commitment.”
“No, you’re Mrs. Parker,” Peter said smoothly. “And it’s not like I’ve never nipped out from an important event for… work.”
“You save lives.”
“And sometimes I just save the contents of a cash register,” Peter reasoned. “I can’t go around thinking my job, my life, is more important than Mary Jane’s. Whatever she does, it’s important to her. That’s what matters.”
Felicia poked at the thick slab of waffle that she’d ordered. “I get that. We can’t just be your support system, Spider—we’re partners. All of us. I get it. But ten gets you twenty that she’s going to come back, saying there’s an interview she’d like to do or a photoshoot, and it’ll just take an hour or so, so does she mind if she steps out just for a little bit…?”
Peter shook his head, disbelieving. “Where is this coming from?”
“I’m not judging! She means it. She’ll skip out for, like, half a day, and be back, and that’ll be the end of it.” Felicia took a bite, chewed, swallowed. “But that’s not all it means.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Remember, Peter, me and MJ had a lot of time alone to get to know each other. Woman to woman. I probably know her better than she knows herself.” Felicia speared another chunk of waffle and stirred it in syrup. “So, you and her. You’re trying for a baby, right?”
“Right.”
“And she was real gung ho about it when you were reluctant. But that was because she had to be. If she hadn’t been full steam ahead… well, not only is that her favorite speed, but if she’d been wait and see, and you’d been wait and see, probably nothing would happen. She knows this. But that doesn’t mean, in her heart of hearts, that she’s full steam ahead.”
“She wants to have a baby. Trust me, that’s been made pretty clear to me.”
“Not saying she doesn’t. I’m saying maybe, now that she’s gotten what she wants, she has a little buyer’s remorse and she wants to slow things down… not that she’d ever admit it. She wants something to take her mind off things. And if her career is having an uptick, that’s the perfect thing to buy her time.”
“So, what, she’s going to book a Broadway engagement to put off being pregnant?”
Felicia shrugged. “Hey, I’m not psychic. I’m just saying, she’s going to want to tap the brakes without letting you hear the tires squeal. So if there is an opportunity presenting itself, she’s gonna jump on it. Don’t take it personal.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Peter assured her.
“Good. Because while the mouse is away…” Felicia reached for her drink and took a long sip. “The cat will play.”
***
The bathroom of Pangolia reminded Mary Jane more of a hotel lobby than any restroom she had ever been in. All the functionality was cleverly concealed behind gilded finishes and marble tile, the soap dispensers sculpted into the walls, the toilet stalls little booths like you imagined the Koch brothers voted in. Mary Jane hopped up on the cool counter, alongside the cisterns and infinity mirror, and returned Maury’s phone call.
He laid everything out in his carnival barker patois, explaining away every niggling concern she might have almost before she had them. “Just a one hour interview, baby, honey, baby, one hour, you tear yourself away from Patrick—“
“Peter.”
“Peter and Felicia—“
“Her name you get right…”
“Felicia and Peter, you’re gone for one hour, they’ve got each other, you get on Skype, you answer a few questions, you’re back, you do whatever. And I promise you, at the end of the week, when your honeymoon’s all said and done, I’ll have a job all lined up for you. I can get you a TV gig, I can get you a movie role, whatever you want. You wanna be the girl James Bond wakes up with? I can make it happen.”
“The girl who doesn’t have a name and is never seen again after the opening sequence?” Mary Jane asked, remembering one of the last scripts she’d been given. And that had been in her heyday… “I’m not interested in that, Maury. I’m too old for it. Why swim against the current? I’m sure half the CW could get that role. The half that’s not in their thirties.”
“So you get a few episodes on this show, on that show, whatever. We start small, but we’re a snowball going downhill, baby. And hey, you don’t even have to do a photo shoot. We’ll rerun some old photos from that FHM shoot, the one in 2009? 2007? We’ll use the, whaddyacall ‘em, outtakes.”
Mary Jane searched her memory for that shoot. Ironically enough, that’d been back when she was in such demand that it all blurred together almost. “The one in Central Park? The, ah, underground thing? With the exposed brick?”
“That’s the one!”
“God, wasn’t I wearing some… Christina Aguilera wannabe crap in that? Missed the zeitgeist by half a decade…”
“I promise you, I’ll go through the shots myself, we’ll only use a few where you look sensational. Put ‘em in black and white to be all classy. And, hey, think about all the, ah, visibility and diversity and representation you’d be going with. You could have a lot of little girls looking up to you!”
“Because they want to be in a group marriage?” Mary Jane asked.
“Because they don’t want to be housewives, eh? Think about that. You might not have that much of a choice later on!”
Mary Jane bit her lip. One hour… what was one hour? Nothing. And even if nothing really came of it, at least she’d be keeping her options open. A nice recurring role on a decent TV show… the second victim in a monster movie… could be fun. Could get her her own walking around money instead of draining Felicia’s coffers. And instead of them being freaks, she could paint them as just… experimental. Adventurous.
***
Rogue squirreled the box out from under Peter’s bed, right where his borrowed memories had said it would be. There was something a bit arrested development about him keeping his porn stash there, but Rogue supposed that was balanced out by the fact that it was porn he had made. His own collection of private photos of Mary Jane. And he was smart enough to keep them offline, where no one could hack them without breaking into the apartment and cracking the combination lock’s numbers. Fortunately, that wasn’t a problem for Rogue.
She opened the footlocker up and immediately there was a naked Mary Jane, her wide spread legs being licked. More photos were behind it. Mary Jane sucked Peter’s cock, fucked his cock, smiled as his cum splashed in her face.
“I don’t believe it!” Rogue muttered, poring through the photographs. She reached down, groped under her skirt, and squeezed herself through her panties. Their crotch was sopping wet.
Tucking the box under her arm, Rogue rushed back to the bed in the living room, unwashed, unmade, practically still damp with the exertions of the night before. She laid down and rustled through the locker some more, finding a photo strip. In it, Mary Jane got fed up of Peter photographing her and wrestled the camera away from him. Peter’s seductive hazel eyes poured out under his brown bangs, and he smiled bashfully before responding to the redheaded photographer’s silent exhortations, unbuttoning his shirt, unzipping his jeans…
She wanted him. God, did she want him!
She knew she was jumping the gun a bit, looking at these private mementos, but her fading memories seemed so inexact, so vague, so insubstantial. She needed something real. As real as Peter would feel when he touched her, when he held her, when he loved her. She needed to know what it would look like when he finally did…
Rogue found herself pulling off her clothes—her dress, her bra, her panties. Her tits had swollen hugely, her nipples like ripe berries. Cream ran from between her legs and trickled down the insides of her thighs. She fell on her back on Peter's bed—even if it was all of theirs, he had made it his when he fucked them all so well—rolling in the smell of him, his picture in one hand, her other hand jabbing between her legs.
"Oh, Peter, fuck me!" she moaned. "Give it to me, sugah!"
She kicked her legs up in the air and pointed her toes. She arched her back and rocked her hips, thrusting her tits up high, rubbing them against the phantom chest of her new lover.
Peter will fuck me good, she thought. Peter would fuck me for an hour if I wanted it, all day if I wanted it. Peter loves to fuck, I can tell that. And I know he knows how. He must know all about sex, because he knows how to fuck MJ and Felicia and Ana, and soon he’ll know how to fuck me too.
She twisted at the waist, driving her face into the evaporating dampness marking one of the many fucks the bed had seen last night. The scent of manly passion whirled through her head, getting her high and drunk, dazed and dizzy. Her fingers knifed in her clutching, juicing pussy. Her toes clutched simultaneously with her cunt. Her juices frothed out of her and ran down her ass like a liquid touch, dribbled down farther, getting the bedsheet slippery under her ass. She wondered if Peter would smell her on his bedsheet the next time he got into bed.
"Ohhh, Peter, I want you!" she moaned, kissing the picture as if it were a voodoo doll she could use to transmit her lust to the real thing. Each smack of her lips sent throbbing pleasure through her cunt. She pressed the spit-wet picture to her nipples, letting him suck her tits. "Do you like these tits, dahlin’? Ah bet you've never sucked tits like these! Ah bet you've never fucked a cunt like mine!"
Rogue flipped over onto her belly, rubbing her tits against the mattress, kissing Peter's picture. Her back was arched and her ass up in the air as she continued reaming out her pussy with her stiff fingers. Her arousal drenched her hand. She rubbed her fingers madly against her clit.
She sat up, churning her cunt on her jerking fingers, bouncing up and down and pretending to ride the boy's stiff, vertical cock as she straddled his lap. She imagined how much more Peter would want her than she wanted him—boys always wanted it more, even when she wanted it so much—and he’d look at her like she was MJ and Felicia and Ana all rolled into one as her hot tits bounced in his face, drawing his tongue to her excited nipples.
She imagined Peter moaning, grunting, his big brown eyes nearly popping out of his head as she tightened her cunt and bore down on his cock.
"Ohhhh yes!" moaned, imagining Peter’s big cock sliding in her cunt. He had a big cock, that was for sure. It was the kind of prick she'd imagined Remy as having. "You got a big cock, lovah—a big, fucking cock on a big, fucking man!"
Her heart raced. She panted fiercely, sweat beading on her forehead, sweat dripping from her nose. She hadn't masturbated with such enthusiasm and pleasure in years, maybe never. Her tits bounded like the hooves of a racehorse. Her cunt tightened rhythmically around her jamming, twisting fingers.
She licked the photograph of Peter, wishing she could taste the scent filling the air, the scent of his manliness that all the other women had been lucky enough to experience. The tension surged through her asshole and cunt and her loins erupted with spasms. Flashes of white light popped behind her eyeballs.
"Ah'm coming!" she moaned. "Ohhh, Peter, shoot it in me! Don’t let me come alone! Ohhh, baby!"
She rotated her ass, churning her cunt on her grinding, ramming fingers, milking hot cream into her hand. Peter's picture fell to the mattress as she heard him, heard him say it, “I love you, MJ,” “I love you, Felicia,” and come inside her and come in her face and come down her throat, all the wonderful memories, borrowed, sampled, but soon they could be hers for real.
I love you, Rogue.
When it was over, Rogue pulled her right hand, dripping with liquid satisfaction, away from her cunt.
What am I doing? she thought. What have I done? She glanced at the front door, once again expecting to see one of the Parkers watching her.
Nobody was there. In the silence of the big apartment her heart sounded like a wildly pounding bass drum. She eased herself off the bed, her arousal like hot syrup pouring down her legs. She wiped it away with a moist towelette, then worked on changing the sheets.
When Peter came home, he would mark her far more thoroughly than he had the bed. She would wear her clothes until he ripped them off her, in defiance of the prison they had formed around her body. When he fucked her, his sweat would borrow into them. His cum would wash over them. He would tattoo himself all over her, change her scent irrevocably so that Hank and Logan and anyone with an ounce of sense would know she was his.
And he… he would be hers.
***
Kaine swung halfway around New York before he reached the Parker apartment and the spider-tracer he had put on Tabitha went off. He let out a discontented grunt. As much as he didn’t think anyone who’d dated Carlie Cooper could fault his taste in women, he’d thought Tabitha would be cowed enough not to bother Peter. But here he was, being a terrible brother, putting Parker in the soup. As funny as it was, he knew Ben would hate it.
He’d have to play it cool. A quick check of his phone and the internet gossip column revealed that the Parkers were at breakfast, so maybe that bought him some breathing room. Say Tabitha had only come by to see Peter, found him gone, and now was waiting for him? Kaine could still wrap this up.
He stealthed into the apartment, went to Peter’s room, and changed into some of Peter’s clothes. Then he strode confidently in the direction of the blaring tracer, obliviously noting some furtive movement out of the corner of his eye. One of Felicia’s cats, he guessed. His secret was safe with them.
***
Rogue threw herself behind the sofa, frantically hoping Peter wouldn’t see her. Where had he come from? The front door was locked—she should’ve had at least the warning of him unlocking it, if not requesting her undo the chain. Unless he came in through the window, like Spider-Man, ya dummy! Rogue ducked her head and hid. She’d changed the sheets on the bed and returned it to the ceiling, but she was still in no shape to be seen. She looked freshly fucked, her hair wild, her face flushed, her clothes disheveled, and when she first presented herself to Peter, she wanted it to be as the Southern belle she was.
She poked her head up as Peter opened the door to a bedroom—whose was it? Ana’s? Hellfire, she had missed that one. And there was someone in the bed, someone who jerked her head up into wakefulness as Peter went in. It was 1 PM… who slept that late?
“Hi, Peter,” the woman said—Tabitha, Rogue thought. Another X-Man? “Rough night, eh?”
“What did you do?” Peter asked, his voice strange and heavy.
“Don’t get all bent out of shape. It was just a bit of a booty call, that’s all. I don’t remember you having a problem with it.” She rolled out of bed and started to dress. “I get it. You’re married. You’re married a lot. And I don’t want to be part of your harem. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun now and then, does it?”
“Don’t put your pants on,” Peter told her.
Tabitha stopped, holding her pants in shaking hands. She stood before him in sheer black panties. His eyes bored at her tawny thighs and Rogue saw her shudder. She was only half-naked, with her T-shirt now hugging her full breasts, but the way he was looking at her, she might as well not have had a stitch on.
“We do this, we do it my way,” Peter said. “I’ll give you a number. If you want to meet with me, you call it. Maybe I’ll pick up. And when I don’t, you stay away.” He looked her over. “You haven’t been spanked very often, have you?”
***
"Sit over my lap," he ordered hoarsely. Humbly, Tabitha hunched over his thighs, her belly on one leg and her tits on the other. She shut her eyes tightly as she felt his hands slide her panties down over her thighs, baring her naked ass.
Tabitha smiled to herself briefly as she pondered obeying. If he was serious about this, fuck him, but if it were just another game… another sleazy, nasty game to play…
"Don't hurt me, Peter," she begged mockingly. "Please! Not too much! There’s only so much I can take!"
Kaine took a deep shaking breath. He stared raptly down at her juicy young ass, feeling his prick throb with urgent power. He began stroking her silky asscheeks with his fingers, spreading the buttocks apart to gaze at her succulent pink pussy, so tiny and vulnerable.
"Peter? Aren't you going to spank me?" Tabitha quavered. "Aren't you going to punish me? I was such a bad girl, I know, but I couldn't help it...! got so hot, so worked up!"
He slid her panties completely off her legs and tossed them aside, his breath gasping. What a juicy little ass! So satiny and tawny, so smooth and luscious! He could feel her boiling young crotch pressed to his thigh as he lewdly squeezed and pinched her hot flesh.
"Peter? What are you doing?" Tabitha groaned. "Oh, Christ, you're getting me hot!"
Kaine lost the last vestige of his control at the delicious feel of her curved ass, wriggling anxiously and passionately beneath his fingers. He began to spank her lovely young ass, slapping its luscious flesh eagerly. Her cries only sparked his excitement, and he brought his palm down fiercely on the soft skin, watching the checks turn crimson, a luscious tint that made his cock pulsate with feverish desire.
"Peter, it hurts! Ooooooooh, God, mmmmmmm!"
Her pussy rubbed wildly against his leg as he punished her and he suddenly realized she was aroused, that she was squirming her crotch lewdly on his thigh.
"That's enough," he said hoarsely.
Groaning, Tabitha climbed off his legs and stood in front of him, her plump tits panting against her jersey. Her golden, silky tangle of pubic hairs glistened wetly with excitement. Her eyes were looking at the enormous bulge tugging at his pants.
"You did that to get excited, didn't you, Peter? To get us both worked up."
"I said enough," he snapped, thinking the lesson would be better learnt if she didn’t play it off as another kink, but he was unable to tear his gaze from her tawny thighs. And he didn’t think there was anything too kinky for her, besides stopping.
Kaine didn’t feel like stopping.
"You want it, don't you, Peter?" Tabitha said lasciviously. She suddenly knelt between his thighs and pressed her warm hand to his fiercely throbbing prick, squeezing to make Kaine groan. She reached for the zipper on his fly. He wanted to stop her but his hands wouldn't move, wouldn't obey his will. Her hot fingers reached inside and brought out his gorged cock.
"Oooooooh, Peter! That's a honey!" she crooned, jerking it eagerly.
With a moan of impatience, Tabitha suddenly rose, whirled around with her luscious asscheeks bouncing, and nestled herself on his lap. She clutched his fleshy rod between her hot thighs, squirming her cunt up and down along its burning surface with squeals of delight.
Panting, Kaine slid his hands beneath her jersey and grasped her warm little tits, cupping and squeezing their hot nipples.
A moment later Tabitha swung up her hips, poised her juicy cunt directly over his quivering prick and slid down on his shaft with a long, wanton moan.
"Oooh, Peter! That's–aaaaah—wonderful—Ummmmmm!"
Her silky hot cunt began squirming blissfully on his cock. Normally exerting a strong control over his passion, Kaine found himself tremendously excited at the feel of her tight, burning pussy and hot ass bouncing eagerly on his lap. He grunted with surprise and pleasure as Tabitha suddenly shuddered her slit in a furious back-and-forth motion on his pulsing prick, then shifted to a feverish side-to-side motion.
"Oh, I love it," Tabitha moaned happily, "oh, Lord, how I love to fuck! Unnnnnnnnngh!"
The obscene words only fired Kaine's excitement. Tabitha quickly twined her ankles around him. One hand dined down to seize his balls and gently squeeze them while the other clawed at his leg. The blonde suddenly swung her hips in a wide grinding motion and new thrills raced along Kaine's surging prick.
"Not bad," Kaine groaned. "Not bad at all!”
"My clit, Peter! Do my clit... aaaaaaagh! I'm gonna come soon, mmmmmmmmmm, love it!"
His hand released a bouncing tit and quickly slid down over her hot belly to probe her cunt. He found her tiny swollen clit and began stroking its wet juiciness with his middle finger. The blonde arched her back with bliss and let out a soft scream as her orgasm began rippling through her hotly sucking pussy. She writhed and thrashed and bounced so furiously on his throbbing cock he found himself losing control. He began to come in her madly wriggling cunt, great gushes of hot fluid spattering wildly.
"Oh Peter! Oh-h-h-h-h Peter! Shoot it in me! Gimme more! Unnnnnnng! More! Let's fuck again!"
It took the girl five minutes to calm down, all the while twitching and squirming her pussy in a frenzy of delight on his softening prick. Finally she leaned back against him with a happy sigh.
"I love your big cock," she moaned. "Let's do it again, can we, Peter?"
Already his prick was beginning to swell with lust as Tabitha squirmed her tight hot pussy lewdly on it. He knew he would be good for at least two more wild sessions with Tabitha.
"Can we fuck again, Peter?" Tabitha whispered. "Can we do it on the bed this time? I want to try out different positions with that beautiful cock of yours. Can we do it every day? Twice a day, at least? Why are you so quiet?"
Kaine rubbed his fingers along Tabitha's tawny moist thighs. They were like fiery silk to his touch. Her hot young pussy wasn't as lewdly experienced as Sasha’s, but it was infinitely more tight and luscious. Already his cock was rigidly quivering inside her eager flesh, primed for action.
"Get up," he told Tabitha.
The blonde girl eagerly stood up, her succulent asscheeks still blushing with his punishment. Kaine stood also. He began to unbuckle his belt.
"Get on the bed," he told her. "And take off your jersey. I want to see those cute little tits."
***
Rogue’s eyes widened desperately as she watched, about to fly in and stop this brutal encounter, but something kept her glued behind the couch, her fingers chipping at a single frayed thread on the upright cushion. Tabitha couldn’t be enjoying this. She just couldn’t be!
Peter was slapping Tabitha’s breasts, his fingers snapping over their ripe contours, then reversing his blows so that his knuckles slammed against them, making the mammaries jiggle like mounds of pudding. Tabitha instinctively tried to protect herself, jerking her hands up to cover her naked body, but Peter only batted them aside, sweat streaking his face, his chest heaving mightily as he sucked in gusts of air.
“Keep screaming, bitch. You’re makin’ me fuckin’ hard with all your screaming.”
“Not hard enough to fuck me!” Tabitha leered back. “Go ahead! Get it up! Fuck me in the ass! I won’t stop you! I can’t stop you!”
“Goddamn right you can’t.”
Rogue watched with a growing tingle in her cunt! Oh, oh, it was getting worse. What on earth was happening to her? It was just like when she had seen the pictures, that awful electric tingle beginning along her inner thighs then radiating up to her pussy and asshole. Oh, but that was when she was playing with herself, doing all those things her parents had told her were bad. But this... this was different. She was watching some man beating her teammate, shouting at her, telling her all sorts of awful, perverted things about herself while getting hard from it!
"Either fuck me or get out!" Rogue heard Tabitha cry in muffled tones. “Fuck me right now, damnit, before I fuck myself!”
She rolled back on her ass and began pummeling Peter with her fists. Peter kept his head well away from the screaming woman while he grabbed both her wrists.
"Ohhhh, you're... hurting me," Tabitha wailed, twisting around to her side while her face became red and pinched with pain. She didn’t sound displeased with the idea.
"Not as much as I'd like."
With that, he let her go, slapping her tits once more, right on the nipple. "Uhhhhhh."
Tabitha lay, semi-conscious, stretched out on the mattress, one leg folded over the other while her arms reached to either side of her, crucifixion style. She breathed evenly as Kaine slipped off the bed, then began rummaging through the dresser. Rogue watched with curiosity as dainty underthings erupted from under his searching fingers.
"This ought to keep you quiet."
Rogue saw him holding a pair of pantyhose and a silk belt from a morning gown. She trembled, feeling another electric shock ripple through her thighs. The heavy swing of his cock reminded her of a tree limb in the wind. And his balls! The whole set looked like it should be hanging from between the hindquarters of a horse or donkey, not from between a man's legs!
"Wh... what are you doing?" Tabitha's voice was soft, broken as she pushed strands of her blonde hair from her eyes and looked up from the bed.
"You'll find out."
As Peter bent over her with the silk belt, Tabitha watched the man's balls swing out, heavy with cum. His balls were all wrinkly and pressed up against his groin with excitement while he was tying up her teammate.
"Ohhhh... you don't know what you're doing to me! Oh, God, God," Tabitha sobbed, her head rolling from side to side, strands of her hair sticking to the damp corners of her mouth.
"I know just what I'm doin', bitch. You're hotter than a goddamn stove. And this is gonna warm you up some more."
Rogue watched with fascination. She had never seen people doing this kind of thing before. Oh, there was all that nonsense in the movies, stories about women being tied up in chains and ropes and all that kind of silly stuff. But she’d never believed people could enjoy it. But Tabitha... well, those sobs and cries were turning into something else. Rogue wasn't sure, but she could hear a change in the tone of her teammate's voice. The pain was still there. But there was something else, something that had been there all the time, something that had kept Rogue from rushing in and forcing Peter to stop.
"Uhhhhhh..."
"Get your hands over here and put 'em together, slut."
Tabitha did as she was told, blinking away the tears and taking deep, calming breaths. Kaine used the silk belt to wrap around her wrists, folding it over several times before securing it tightly with a double slipknot. Tabitha's face blanched then reddened again as the soft material bit into her flesh. Sucking in her lower lip, she chewed down, her forehead wrinkling with growing apprehension... and excitement!
"Yeah, a nice, hot cock for a good, hot pussy. That's what it's all about, ain't it? That's why you were trottin' over to my place in that skimpy whore outfit, wagging your tits and ass at me, hopin' I'd help myself. That's what you were askin' for, that's what you got... in spades."
"Ohhhhh..."
Rogue swallowed another lump of excitement, wondering where this would all end... for her as well as Tabitha.
