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Spider + Cat + Redhead update
🕑 Added 2016-10-21 09:10:55 +0000 UTC Peter saw himself in a mirror. Only there was no mirror.“Kaine,” he said. “Didn’t think you were in town.”
“Is that any way to greet your brother? Come over here, man. Let’s Timecop it out.”
They embraced, Kaine thumping him on the back in that manly way Peter considered himself a bit too mature for. When they released, Peter noted his looks. Kaine had filled out, some of that drawn, wolfish quality leaving his face. He’d shaved his omnipresent stubble, trimmed his hair, straightened his posture out of its perpetual slouch. He looked more like Peter than ever.
It was the eyes that were different. Peter just didn’t think he himself looked at people like that.
“What are you doing here?” Peter asked. “Really.”
“Really? I came to wish you well on your big day. Here—I didn’t have time to look at your registry.”
Peter took the bottle Kaine handed him, a ribbon tied around it to make it a gift.
“Thirty-year-old Glenlivet,” Kaine said proudly.
“I don’t drink.”
“Funny, I do.” Kaine shrugged. “Two mother-in-laws. Just saying.”
“Look, I’d invite you in, but I’m still kinda rocking the secret identity thing—“
“And the royal-blue suit,” Kaine noted. “How can you date a supermodel and a cat burglar and not know any tailors?”
“Hey, if I wanted to go all Whedon with someone, I’d find Deadpool.”
“Funny you should mention him—Natasha told you that guy was swinging around as you?”
“She was kidding,” Peter realized.
“Yes she was,” Kaine said proudly. “You’re welcome.”
Peter begrudgingly nodded. “Look, I’m thankful, but this really isn’t a good time.”
“I know! You’re about to end the dry spell and you get dragged into some superhero-themed children’s birthday party with real superheroes. It’s rough.”
“You’re keeping awfully current with my life.”
“Felicia and I are Facebook friends. Here’s what I’m thinking,” Kaine barreled on. “We pull the old Batman-Superman switcheroo. I pose as you, play man of the hour for a few hours, while you take Watson and Hardy back home.”
“Never would’ve figured you for the type who’d want to play Sister Sister.”
“I’m trying to do you a favor here, bro. You’re a very hard man to shop for.”
“If you screw up, it’s my secret identity, and that’s my family.”
“I’ll play nerd for a few hours!” Kaine said magnanimously. “How hard can it be? I’ll do a few dances, drink a little bubbly, make small talk. Meanwhile you get to do a solid for your wives, since I’m sure they’re hating hanging out with a bunch of your friends throwing a party for you.”
Peter sighed, hating to admit that Kaine had a point. “One thing, though. Are you doing okay?”
“What are you talking about, I’m fine?”
“You mean it? Not in any trouble? Because if you are, you don’t have to do me a favor before I help you.”
“Holy shit, man, everything’s fine. Here.” Kaine took off his jacket and loosened his tie. “Switch. We’ll say MJ and Felicia got tired, drank a little too much, they’re resting up while you do the Macarena.”
“While you do the Macarena,” Peter said, handing him his own jacket. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this.”
“Don’t forget your glasses.” Kaine gestured for them.
“I don’t wear glasses anymore.”
“Some people have no respect for tradition. Go have fun with your two wives!”
***
“And you wonder why I’m Facebook friends with him,” Felicia said. It was a bit of a comedown from the limo, piling into the back of a cab. The cross-dressing cat burglar, bride in white, and tuxedoed man attracted, of course, no attention from the hack.
“How does he keep from tagging pictures of Peter as pictures of him?” Mary Jane wondered.
“He’s my clone. I don’t think he tags himself,” Peter said.
“So he’s found a way to sell Facebook pictures to J. Jonah Jameson?”
The cab finally pulled up to their hotel, and between Felicia rubbing Peter’s leg and Mary Jane pressing her breasts to his arm as she leaned over him, it was just in time to prevent the backseat from developing anymore cleanliness issues than it already had.
They rode the elevator up, barely an inch of light between them, Mary Jane playfully pulling her veil before her face as Peter tried to maneuver it out of the way—Felicia dragging him around by his borrowed tie to steal the kisses Mary Jane wouldn’t take. Then the elevator stopped and they barreled inside.
Ana had already prepared the apartment. The lights were dim, with most of the illumination coming from candles and lit incense that gave the room a faint glow, like a sheen of gold over everything. The moonlight took care of the rest, revealing the scattered petals on the floor in stark black and white, shadows and light. The windows were open and the curtains billowing with a stately night chill that drove Mary Jane and Felicia into Peter’s sides, hungry for his warmth.
“Ana… wow!” Peter breathed. “I had no idea…”
“It’s for all of us,” Ana explained. “To mark our new lives together. The incense is Essence of Brood.”
“Oh-kay…” Mary Jane had turned her back to Peter, leadingly, and he had no choice but to unzip her dress, watching as smooth swaths of creamy flesh became visible on either side of her bra strap. The dress shifted down on her, exposing sweeping dunes of cleavage all the way down to her bra, and then Mary Jane just stood, nuzzling against Peter, as if she weren’t falling out of her wedding down.
“It has extreme aphrodisiac qualities,” Ana said. “Increasing stamina and… potency. In women, it increases… interest.” She gazed around the room. “If you have any objections, I can damp them.”
“Potency sounds nice,” Mary Jane said, kissing Peter’s shoulder.
“I was feeling ‘interested’ already,” Felicia said. “But every little bit helps…”
She rested her chin on Peter’s shoulder, patiently waiting as he craned his neck to Mary Jane and took the kiss he’d been waiting for all the way up. Once, it would’ve made her jealous to see him bestowing affection on Mary Jane instead of her. But now, each day he was affectionate enough with both of them for five Felicias. She knew how much he valued her, no matter how much time he spent with MJ or anything else. The life growing inside her was proof of that.
“You got any music cued up?” Mary Jane asked, finished with her kiss, relinquishing Peter to Felicia.
“Yes, why?” Ana replied.
Mary Jane wiggled out of her dress, a glorious motion of her hips swaying, her breasts jiggling, pale skin and freckled contours in a perversely white set of demi-cut bra and boy-cut panties. She still wore her wedding veil, flattening it over her breasts with playful hands. It was opaque enough to form a layer of white frost over her semi-nakedness, like the gleam of sunlight on metal. Hiding nothing but not showing everything.
“Because I feel like dancing.”
***
Behind the living room’s two-way mirror, Rogue stirred. She smelled something. Something… intriguing. Holding her head and moaning, she managed to crane her neck to look around.
Moments later, she was in agony. She wanted to plead with them—the touching people, the people on the other side of the glass—to do something to her, to use her in some way, to include her, to fuck her.
She was in a state of lust she’d never experienced before. There’d been stolen kisses, stolen memories, but those playful, cautious, disastrous episodes were nothing compared to this anguish. She was literally on the outside looking in, seeing how people wanted each other’s bodies, enjoyed each other’s bodies, when there were no restraints on them.
Her mind was filled with erotic thought, her whole body tingling with sleeping sensation. She couldn’t think of sex as something forbidden, taboo, unknown. This was it. Her mind and body were completely tuned to what she was watching. Her eyes closed in rapture and for a moment, she just listened. To them, and to her own body.
Her breasts ached to be felt, caressed, mauled, kissed, bitten. Her sex was drenched. She even felt a kind of itch between the cheeks of her ass, remembering some of the secondhand thoughts she’d gotten from Mary Jane.
She opened her eyes.
The thought of not watching never even occurred to her.
***
Peter watched as Mary Jane turned the stereo on, flipping the volume dial until rock music was blasting at a raucous level. “You didn’t get enough dancing at the reception?”
“That was a kidnapping. This is our reception.” Mary Jane kicked a throw rug aside. “Ana, go put the Glenlivet on ice. Here, we dance like nobody’s watching…”
She gave Peter a shove, sitting him down in a chair, and his eyes bugged out as he watched Mary Jane dance. Swinging her hips, shaking her trim ass, cupping her breasts in her hands and offering them up to her appreciative audience.
Mary Jane had always been a good dancer, and with a rapt audience, she was even better. The wild beat of the music pounded through her, seeming to jerk her around with its strums and chords, fuck her in time to the music.
The hard-driving rhythm made her blood race, and she could feel that heat rushing downward into her sex, turning her on beyond belief. Seeing her husband’s excited eyes on her just aroused her all the more as she danced for his benefit, abandoned all the limits she set on herself in clubs and photo shoots to show that she gave herself to him, body and soul. For him, she’d be his whore, his wife, his bitch, his best friend, his partner in crime and the mother of his child. Because he was already everything to her.
She danced closer and closer to where Peter sat, his mouth parted slackly as he watched her. MJ glanced down at his crotch and saw that he had a hard-on jutting out against the fabric of his pants. When she looked over at Felicia, the cat burglar was already staring at it.
“This is why I can’t believe you lost that part to Jessica Alba,” Peter gasped, his voice thick with lust. “She won’t even do nudity…”
Mary Jane grinned, pleased by his reaction. She threw her arms up high over her head, lifting her huge breasts, thrusting them outward into the veil that hung over her. Her stiff nipples bored into the thin fabric of her bra. Her tits swayed wildly as she jerked her hips, twisted her shoulders, thrust her crotch in an obscene bellydance. She knew that she had Peter’s undivided attention and that he was growing more and more aroused.
She whirled about the room with fast, frenzied movements, stretching and twisting her slender body into the most seductive poses she could think of. She watched Peter’s erection grow thicker, longer. Then she turned her attention to Felicia, sitting beside Peter, her fingers deadlocked on her own knees. Too captivated even to reach over and fondle Peter, as Mary Jane had on occasions when Felicia had put on performances for the two of them.
Mary Jane danced up close to the cat burglar and deliberately pivoted to her, bending at the waist and sweeping her upper body from right to left, giving Felicia a view straight into her cleavage. Then she laughed and danced away; even Felicia’s face reddened.
The redhead was growing more and more aroused. She continued to dance wantonly to the heavy, erotic beat being driven into her reeling brain. Feeling as if her entire body was now throbbing with the pulsing rhythm of the music. Her skin broke out in goosebumps. Her breasts swelled. Her clit was hard and begging for attention.
Mary Jane gyrated more and more wildly to the pounding beat, tanging her hands in her veil and pulling it taut against her body in places where she thrust against it, pressing her breasts through the fabric, her ass, pulling the veil so sheer that it seemed obscene for there to be another layer of fabric underneath it, her bra, her panties, denying that last little fraction of an inch that would reveal her body.
Her flesh flushed and shone with a sexual glow. She felt as if she were surrendering completely to the music, as she might surrender to a lover, as she would give herself to Peter so very soon. The steady driving beat had taken over her body, and her sex pulsed with the arousal of being caressed by it.
Again, she raised her arms high overhead, this time pulling the veil up off her thighs, her sleek panties, her taut belly—showing them the damp arousal that darkened the crotch of her panties. She began to undulate her flat stomach toward Peter. She saw him lick his lips, glanced again at his crotch and saw that it was almost splitting the seam of his pants.
Mary Jane’s head jerked, whipping her long hair about her face. Underneath the veil, her hands shot up over her breasts, then down to her thighs, pushed into the pounding pressure at her groin to give her an instant’s relief as she wriggled her trim little ass in Peter’s direction.
She straightened again. Her tits jiggled buoyantly as she moved, one bra strap having fallen from her shoulder, her nipples poking insistently against the cups that held them. Her ass weaved back and forth as she undulated toward Felicia, now focusing all her sexuality on her.
Felicia was leaning forward in her chair with an almost Zen-like centricity, and Mary Jane giggled. It looked as if Felicia were reminding herself that her present condition made it impossible to leap up and attack MJ as she so desperately wished to.
“You look beautiful when you dance like that,” Peter groaned, seeming to speak for Felicia as she zoned out with sexual frustration.
Mary Jane glanced at him and saw that he was staring hard at her tits, nearly drooling. She growled and purred as she continued to dance for him, and his gaze shifted to her ass. She arched her back, twisting and turning, thrusting her breasts out to the primitive beat which seemed to hold her body and her mind. Satisfyingly, Peter’s eyes were drawn back to her breasts as she shook them for her audience.
With her back fully arched, her face turned toward her husband, Mary Jane jerked her arms behind her back, crossing her wrists as if they were bound. Then she worked her shoulders in small circles. She felt her tits roll upward and outwards, pushing against the front of her bra, and the second shoulder strap slipped loose.
“God, Mary Jane!” Felicia cried, her eyes widening. She gulped hard, staring right at her wife’s tits. Mary Jane’s rigid nipples were almost in view, her areolas blooming in the dark space between her lapsing bra and her shadowed flesh. Felicia’s clit buzzed between her legs.
Mary Jane’s blood boiled hotly inside her. Her cunt was sopping wet, the front of her panties a damp shadow. Facing Felicia, she gave her dancing everything she had, jerking, stretching, twisting, pumping her loins back and forth as if fucking Felicia, being fucked by her.
She boldly moved her hands up over her belly, to the full swelling of her breasts. She lifted them upward and out toward her lovers. Her shoulders moved sensuously from side to side, swaying with the motion of her body. She seemed about to finally, irrevocably pull the bra away from her flesh, but instead she gripped her veil and ripped it from her head. With even that minor imperfection no longer shadowing her body, her appearance came as a shock. Her eyes were glazed over with lust and both of them could smell the heady aroma of her arousal, soaking through her panties.
“Jesus Christ!” Peter cried, his eyes looking as if they were about to pop right out of their sockets.
Now Mary Jane hooked a finger between the cups of her bra and tugged it downward, bringing the soft slopes leading down to her nipples fully into view, all the way to her areolas.
“God, yes, Mary Jane!” Felicia groaned. “Take it off! Show us!”
Her wife’s words thrilled Mary Jane, turning her on even more. Felicia was being driven into paroxysms of lust, a masturbatory frenzy, just by the hint of what she’d seen countless times before.
She wanted Peter feeling the same way. “Are you sure?” Mary Jane panted. “Do you really think my boobs are good enough to be in the same room as the Black Cat?”
She looked Peter straight in the eye as she slowly lowered the bra still more, showing him her nipples now, but trapped in the shadow of her hands, encased in dark amber that hid all but how swollen they’d become.
“You’ve got to take it off,” Peter said frantically, as if he were discussing desperately important superhero business. “You’ve got to take it off now.”
“But you didn’t say please, Peter. You should be more polite when you ask for things,” Mary Jane teased with a grin. She pulled her bra against the lower slopes of her breasts, making it press hard against her engorged nipples so they jutted out all the more.
“Oh, God, Red—do you realize what you’re doing to me?” Felicia groaned. She had never been this turned on before, not in all her life.
“Please, Mary Jane,” Peter said, with the same frenetic calm that MJ supposed came with being a neurotic in a crisis situation every week. “Please take your bra off.”
“That’s better,” Mary Jane said, smiling at her husband. She tore her bra off and threw it to Felicia. The Black Cat caught it easily, groaning as she felt its warmth from Mary Jane’s skin. “Come here, tiger. Let’s dance.”
***
Rogue took a moment to look at Felicia, to see if it was remotely possible that she wasn’t jealous, watching another woman with her man. Felicia had undressed a little—undone even the mild discomfort of her belt, dropped her trousers to completely relax in this intimate setting. Her long legs were now bare, her panties covered only by her large shirt, its hem bunched up high on her thighs, revealing the whiteness of her fine skin almost to her crotch.
And she looked so feverishly enamored with Peter and Mary Jane’s attraction to each other that Rogue wondered if she herself looked the same way: excited, lusting, wolfishly eager for the sexuality on display to grow until it encompassed her as well. It wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. Felicia could no more be excluded from it than Peter and Mary Jane could pick a particle of oxygen not to breathe.
Mary Jane began moving her hips to the rhythm. Rogue remembered feeling the infectious rhythm Mary Jane had displayed in her memories, as she joined with Peter in some beat they set together, and it came as no surprise that she was as adept at dancing as she was at sex—at leading as she was at following.
She stood over Peter, shaking her hips, and motioned for him to get up and dance with her. Peter slowly rose out of his seat, then began copying Mary Jane’s sensuous movements. He danced stiffly at first, as if abashed by Mary Jane’s half-nudity, but she put her hands on his hips and moved him more energetically. Peter picked up the beat and moved with her, as if her breasts weren’t blatantly on display, as if he weren’t as aroused as Rogue had ever seen a man—that huge cock of his fully erect and nearly bursting out of his pants.
As they danced, Ana came back into the room, shaking out a lit match. She went to where Felicia was sitting and sat down on the arm of her chair. It seemed a little strange to Rogue—surely not Ana too?—but she saw Mary Jane and Peter bring their bodies together as they moved to the music, exchanging countless kisses, and Felicia reached around Ana’s waist and grabbed her breast.
The four of them… all four of them… it seemed like a small leap from two to three, but from three to four? That was a larger leap. But once made… why not five?
She watched Felicia’s hand move around on Ana’s teat, saw the girl bend gently to sit herself down on Felicia’s lap, careful to splay a hand on the armrest so that her weight was well clear of Felicia’s pregnancy. They kissed as Mary Jane and Peter kept dancing in a tight embrace, though now it was more Mary Jane rubbing her body against Peter’s as he just kept kissing her. And Felicia and Ana were kissing too. It gave Rogue a rush of anticipation. Were they going to fuck right there in the living room?
Felicia was already moving her hand up Ana’s shirt, and Rogue could see her fingers under the thin material, creeping over the fullness of her breast. Ana’s hand was out of sight in Felicia’s lap, but by the movements of her shoulder, Rogue could tell she was rubbing something. Rubbing it hard.
Peter was leaning over Mary Jane and reaching down to her ass, taking the shapely cheeks into a tight grip. Rogue could imagine how Mary Jane could feel his prick pressing into her belly through his pants. Her breasts were squeezed between their bodies, even their firmness giving way to the hardness of Peter’s pectoral muscles.
Then Peter dipped down, bending his knees, and grabbed Mary Jane around the waist. When he stood straight again, Mary Jane’s feet came off the floor. She was danced around the room in his strong arms, moved as lightly as a feather. Then he lowered her down his body, and her legs opened to him, and she slipped her thighs under his arms, around his waist, effortlessly sliding together with him.
“I’ll be right back,” Peter said to Ana and Felicia. “MJ’s promised me a private tour of her room. We’ve decided it’s high time this apartment be christened… completely.”
“Uh-uh,” Felicia said, pushing Ana aside. “Uh-uh-uh. I saw you two at the Mansion!” She extended her hand to Ana, who now gamely helped her to her feet. “Mary Jane’s already had her turn. Now it’s mine.”
Mary Jane sputtered. “That was… just a quickie, it shouldn’t, doesn’t, count…”
She looked at Peter in protest, but he shrugged. “She has a point.”
“But Peter… tiger…” Mary Jane stroked Peter’s face in her hands. “I need it. I really need it.”
“You’ve had it!” Felicia quipped impishly.
“Cat,” Peter chided. Mary Jane was tugging at his hair and he gave in, pressing his forehead to hers, letting her breathe his air. “MJ, it’s just a few minutes. You’ve certainly kept me waiting long enough. What’s a few minutes more?”
Mary Jane pouted, knowing she was being childish and indulging that childishness a little. “You’ll make her come,” she bargained, “but you’ll finish in me.”
“Mmmhmm,” Peter said. “And you’ll get to watch.”
Mary Jane hugged him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “If only you still had six arms…”
Peter patted her back as he walked to Felicia, effortlessly taking the redhead along for the ride. His step was bouncy and light, even. He reached down and put his hand on Felicia’s bulging stomach.
“You know, sometimes I feel like such a jerk around you two,” he said, his voice hushed as if marveling at her condition, despite his words.
Mary Jane teasingly nipped at his earlobe. “Try the pity party act with someone whose life you haven’t saved a couple dozen times.”
“And who don’t know how big your dick is.” Felicia smiled ravishingly as she momentarily plucked Peter’s hand up from her belly, kissed it, and moved it to her breast.
Peter returned her smile, almost shyly considering the circumstances, then patiently moved his hand down. Not to the baby, but to the hem of her shirt where it tailed between her legs. “You two are so alike, in a good way. In the best way. You love life, you seize it, you enjoy it to the last drop, whether it’s dancing or…”
He’d turned his gaze to Felicia and her smile had correspondingly widened. Her eyebrows curved wickedly.
“I was going to say stealing,” Peter said, mock reproachful.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Felicia blithely lied.
Peter darkened again. Almost solemnly, he lifted Felicia’s shirt, displaying her naked sex. It was covered with a fine, snow white hair that formed a perfect triangle as it crept up her distended belly.
“I used to think that you two were frivolous, in your own ways. That you didn’t take life seriously. But now I know you do. You know how precious life is, and that’s why you’re so determined not to waste it. You enjoy it. And I do too, now. Because of you.”
He lifted the shirt higher. Felicia’s stomach rose rounded and majestic from her creamy thighs, her delicate womanhood. Her smile halfway becoming the O of a moan, she spread her legs wide, opening her wet and inviting labia.
“It makes me wonder how I could ever doubt you. Look at you. Both of you. Felicia, you’re carrying my child, MJ, you want to give that child a brother—“
“A sister,” Mary Jane corrected. “But whatever.” Her nonchalance was trying to cover up the beaming smile Peter’s speech was provoking in her.
“This family—you want it. You’re committed to it. And I’m going to devote myself to it just as much as you two already have,” Peter promised them. He let his hand slide into the glacial hair between Felicia’s legs, the covering that Mary Jane knew to be red-hot despite its appearance.
Felicia rolled her hips as best she could in her condition, feeding herself to Peter’s fingers as they nuzzled at her ready cunt.
Mary Jane tightened her howler monkey grip on Peter, trying not to whimper as she thought of how that could be her if she hadn’t sated herself at the reception. Her cunt was tingling. Peter had two fingers in Felicia’s sex and was slowly using them to fuck her, making Felicia hunch lewdly against his hand. Little gasps and moans escaped her lips, stirring the white hair that hung around her face like a makeshift wedding veil.
“That’s so good, daddy,” she cooed mercilessly. “Make me come.”
Mary Jane closed her eyes. The sight of the pregnant woman hunching against her own husband’s hand was almost too much; still it turned her on like she would never have believed, watching Peter with another woman. She wanted desperately to reach into her panties and play with herself, but her clit was so tender now. She wanted Peter to touch it, Peter who could never hurt her, Peter who was synonymous with bliss…
Felicia came with a cry of divine pleasure and ripped her shirt open as she did, buttons flying, heaving breasts exposed in all their newfound splendor. It was a quick striptease, but surprisingly satisfying even in comparison to Mary Jane’s. There was something to be said for getting right down to business.
“So nice, daddy.” Felicia smiled wickedly. “You’re gonna be MJ’s baby daddy now too, right? Make her breasts nice and full like mine. Once you’re done with me.” An afterglow’s tremor seemed to run through her with the words forming in her throat. “I want your cock.”
Peter circled his arm under her ass and picked her up. She looped her arms around Peter’s neck along with Mary Jane’s like two sets of leis, and together the three went to Felicia’s room.
***
Rogue would’ve screamed in frustration if it weren’t for the worry they would hear her. Felicia’s bedroom was down a hallway, which Rogue could see through the mirror, but then Peter and Mary Jane and Felicia made a right turn into it, and they were gone from her sight. It was enough to make Rogue want a Sentinel around just so she had something that could take more than one punch from her.
Ana was still there, though, standing in the hallway, lingering in the doorway the three marrieds had gone through. Rogue looked at her, as if she could absorb what Ana was seeing through the reaction she had to it.
She focused on Ana’s sensual face—the features seeming almost slack, her pink tongue moistening lush, full lips as she looked down at herself and then longingly at the room in front of her, as though it were a cool, refreshing stream on a hot summer day.
Rogue could almost hear the thoughts in her head as she pondered whether or not to take a dip in that water.
There was a moment of indecision, then her mind was made up. Ana slowly began to unbutton her gown, dropping it to the soft carpet beneath her bare feet. She looked pleased by her daring decision as she stood proudly naked in full view of Rogue, thank God, her dark-pointed breasts jutting out fully from the vanilla hue of her body.
Naked and deliciously relaxed, as though she were all alone, she softly padded forward. She set one dainty foot experimentally on the bedroom’s threshold, spreading her long, slim thighs and exposed the pink lips of her sex almost innocently with that step.
Rogue bit her lip with trembling agitation as she heard what Ana did: moans, sighs, gasping exhortations. Whatever was happening, it was teasing, playful, something that could be harder and faster and deeper but wasn’t but would be. Rogue would’ve taken it slow, if she could. Soft, if she could. Just the tip, if she could. To ask for more… God, she’d take anything. As long as it made her moan like that. And sigh. And gasp.
She wanted Ana to go in, to join them, for Ana’s sake, but selfishly she wanted Ana to stay out of it. So she could keep watching. So she had some tenuous connection to what Peter was doing to them. To both of them, at once, mah Gawd…
Rogue heard a sound that wasn’t like before, the verging-on-gentle vocal reactions or the collisions of flesh against flesh. This was wet, true, but fast, zippy. Thwip! It took her a moment to place it, in this new setting. Webshooters going off. Thwip, thwip, thwip! Going off a lot…
Ana decided. Whatever was happening in there, it was too good to interrupt. She casually lay back in the hallway, the light from inside the room bathing her inviting body as she began to drag her red fingernails up the sides of her thighs and waist. She smiled with anticipatory excitement.
Her fingers curled higher along her skin until she began to tease small circles around her upturned breasts, pulling at the tanned little nipples as they responded eagerly. They rose to an unashamed tautness between her pinching fingers. As she rubbed them between her thumbs and forefingers, Ana began to languidly open and close her athletic legs… just enough to reveal the trembling slit of her sex again, glistening with beginning moisture between her scissoring thighs.
Rogue unconsciously mimicked her. It took her a moment to realize she was pumping her thighs for the same reason. To alleviate, and to provoke, the pressure growing between her legs.
Ana dug her heels into the thick carpet beneath her, a gleaming flicker of passion obvious in her bold eyes. They flicked toward Rogue, and for a moment Rogue thought she’d been seen until she realized Ana was looking at herself in the mirror—becoming absorbed in the sight of her own autoerotic pleasure, just as Rogue was.
Still, the not-quite-meeting of their eyes made Rogue wince with sudden, acute embarrassment. As she watched, she torturously remembered the similar pleasure she’d taken in her ‘sharing’ with Mary Jane… the wanton disregard for common decency that had proven so ecstatic for her. She blushed as shame bloomed from her conscience, and squeezed her thighs together as though she could bury the sinful feelings between them.
Ana writhed more lasciviously now, as though being ravished by some unseen lover. Both her hands were running over the flat plane of her well-muscled belly. She groaned softly to her own touch, until finally her fingertips came to rest at the triangle of her soft, gently furred sex. She moaned again at the daring contact of her hands with the darkly swelling lips of her labia, but then spread her thighs apart in complete counterpoint to Rogue. She allowed them to fall wide open, exposing to Rogue’s excited eyes all the glistening tenderness of her core.
Her fingers crawled to the soft, hair-fringed sex, spreading her folds slowly apart until even the pinkened darkness of her inner passage was visible. Her tiny puckered anus, as well, peeked out invitingly below.
Rogue tensed in disbelieving shock as she watched Ana slowly probe her middle finger into the glistening pink valley she had just exposed, beginning to stroke the gathering prominence of her clitoris. Her sensual movements grew slowly as her intrigued fingers worked themselves deeper against herself, smoothly widening the wet lips of her pussy.
Her legs jackknifed back, knees against her breasts, and the full rounded buttocks clenched wildly as she joined two fingers with the first and pushed all three into her hungry pink folds. They disappeared with a soft sucking noise, and a sighing moan of pleasure purred from Ana’s open mouth.
Rogue was leaning forward now, her mind rebelling at the lewd spectacle of watching a young and beautiful woman fingering her own nakedly squirming cunt—the private ecstasy that Rogue had enacted so many times on herself now being broadcast as if in rejoinder to her taboos, her secretiveness, her unshared intimacy. The thought that she had done this, that she had looked like this, turned Rogue into a loose bundle of raw nerve ends, reacting uncontrollably to the slightest sexual impulse. Horrified and overwhelmed and intrigued, Rogue found herself gripped in an awestruck paralysis as she watched the smallest part of the carnality unfolding in the apartment with widened eyes.
Worse, Rogue sensed that her own flesh was beginning to involuntarily throb, to share in the passion caused by Ana’s unashamed enjoyment of herself. Desperately, she pressed her thighs together in an attempt to control the strange tingle that was now gradually working into the forbidden places deep inside her, where even she had not touched. When she felt herself, there was always a hint of guilt, a feeling of recompense… the knowledge that this was not being done by someone who loved her because no one could love her. Not after what she’d done, not after what she’d been.
But now… as Ana so unreservedly pleasured herself… Rogue thought she was feeling the same thing. Satisfaction without shame, without limit, without stop. And there could be more. So much more. She was watching Ana, but Ana was watching Peter, and the thought of what he was visiting onto his two willing companions sent tiny licking flames all through Rogue, no matter how much she willed it to cease.
She could feel small, delightful pinpricks racing through her pulsating breasts, hardening her tender nipples into stiffness that demanded far more than the abrasive friction of her bra. She could feel her breath rushing from her flared nostrils into her firm breasts as she became increasingly stimulated.
Her nerves were heating and her mind whirled in indecision. Should she join in? Should she stop? Her face crimsoned as she thought of Ana’s fingers digging cruelly into her own petite breasts. The lewd sight sent another electric tingle deep into her belly, and she could feel the warm wetness between her thighs increasing with every passing second.
By now, Ana had become possessed by lust. Her eyes were shut, her teeth clenched as she writhed around her own driving fingers, feeling uncontrollable passion. The rapid rhythm drove moans of enjoyment from deep in her throat, her fingers sinking into the tight opening of her cunt. There were moist sounds as she withdrew her fingers to push them in again, and the wetter they sounded, the louder Ana’s moans seemed to be.
If Rogue was going to stop, it had to be now, before she lost all her inhibitions—she was already actually considering going out there and asking to be a participant in that orgy, as if they’d have her! Yet she couldn’t seem to force herself to discount the idea—of watching Mary Jane dancing again, but this time having the redhead make love to her with those green eyes, just like Peter and Felicia. To kiss Peter, to be picked up like Felicia. To be watched, to be the one whose lasciviousness drove Ana to touch herself and come and take pleasure in the mere sight of her ecstasy.
Perhaps, she rationalized, it would be alright for a little while longer. She had already seen Ana naked, seen what she was doing… would her misdeed be mitigated any if she didn’t watch all of it? If she missed some of it? She could always stop when Ana did—then she would only really owe an apology to Ana. The others would be completely unharmed by her actually completely unintentional spying.
She would wait, Rogue decided… just until the delicious tingling between her thighs subsided.
She never took her eyes off Ana’s body, watching in anticipation and nervousness… fear of her own willingness to see what would happen next.
Ana’s face darkened as she strained for her rising climax. She groaned in frustration as her own fingers fucked harder and deeper. They were not enough, and her head rolled from side to side on the ground, Ana beating her skull against the floor in frustration over her inability to finish herself off.
Still she tried, her hand beating a wild staccato against her wantonly tensing buttocks, the groans faster and louder with each surging finger she took.
Rogue had begun to masturbate.
She stopped when Ana did.
“Ana,” Peter had called from inside the room, his voice hoarse, strained. Satisfied. “Room for one more?”
Rising, Ana trotted through the doorway to join them.
And still Rogue touched herself, trying to summon up the sight of Peter’s dick, of Mary Jane’s bare breasts, of her own memories of the inside of Mary Jane’s head and its sensual memories.
She knew it wouldn’t be enough.
But she also knew they couldn’t stay in that room forever.
There was a whole apartment to christen.
