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In Every World, In Every Story update
🕑 Added 2016-04-04 18:16:24 +0000 UTC Felicia followed Peter all the way to the wall of Battleworld. The others didn’t follow. They’d said what they’d come to say. Others they’d awaken hadn’t taken the call to adventure any better.Peter had climbed every mile of the wall, all the way to the top, looking out over the segmented honeycomb of Battleworld’s domains. His limbs ached, his breath was ragged, and the infernal energy that had driven him still stung inside.
Felicia, on the other hand, had bribed a guard to take her up.
“It’s not all that bad,” she said to Peter. He was sitting on the edge, his feet dangling over the side.
“Magneto’s in charge of everything. His name is the word ‘magnet’ with the letter ‘o’ at the end. He dresses in purple. With a cape. I’m finding it hard to find a silver lining.”
Felicia joined him, side by side but a little further back, one leg drawn up to her chest, the other extended out with his, calf sliding off the rim. “I was thinking more along the lines of my life. I’m living in a world where even you can’t take issue with me breaking the law. Who knows? In twenty years, ‘Felicia Hardy: Sapien Outlaw’ might be a bigger hero than ‘Peter Parker: Mutant Sellout.’”
“Good point,” Peter said. He scratched at his stubbly scalp. “You couldn’t have mind-whammied me before I shaved my head?”
“That was the cincher, actually. Tony wanted to leave you alone, but when we saw you were going all self-destruct, just like last time…”
“Last time? Oh, yeah. Made myself the Green Goblin. Gave Jameson my diary.”
“I read that, actually,” Felicia put in. “I can’t believe you didn’t have star ratings…”
“You would’ve been a four.”
“Out of four or out of five?”
“Out of ten,” Peter teased.
“Careful, Spider.” Felicia rested her foot on Peter’s back, exerting a little force to bend him toward the edge. “I have supervillain memories.”
“I have memories on top of memories. This life, that life… hell, maybe someone labeled something wrong and I have a few Ben Reilly memories swimming around.”
Felicia propped her foot up on Peter’s shoulder now. “So. Are you married or not?”
“I don’t know. You think what happens in Battleworld stays in Battleworld?”
Felicia grinned. “Absolutely.”
Peter shook his head, suddenly serious. Felicia winced. It really was the old him. “There’s something more… another layer of memory, of life… I remember being married to Mary Jane… and I remember the wedding being called off, us just shacking up and… I don’t know. Maybe when they made me, they had to use bits from two different Peter Parkers. Frankenstein me together.”
Felicia playfully ground her heel into his neck. “Well. You were twice the man anyone else was when I first met you. Spider-Man and Peter Parker. How much more man are you now?”
Peter caught her foot by the ankle. A leather boot. Fur trim. It tickled his lips as he dipped to kiss it. “I feel like someone else when I’m with you. Like I’m someone from a world where it all worked out between us.”
“Maybe that world’s here,” Felicia said.
“Maybe.” He ran his hand up her leg.
“I miss your costume.”
“I miss it too. Cost me thousands.”
“Had a zipper,” Peter added, his hand rubbing over her crotch.
“Had a lot of zipper.”
“How many people knew the zipper went all the way to the small of your back?”
“Less than you’d think.”
Felicia laid on her back. She was amazing from that angle. Her breasts, firm, barely relinquishing themselves to gravity, wholly blocked out her face. Peter turned his back on the edge, crawling up her body, kissing her legs, black leather, firm muscle underneath, lots of leather, lots of muscle. The smell of her pussy through the pants, the warmth of her flesh, he could feel it on his lips, he could taste it on his tongue…
“Show me,” Felicia demanded. “Show me. It’s been a lifetime since I’ve seen it…”
Peter ignored her, gave up on the search for a zipper, instead dug his fingers between her waistband and her skin with all his might (it took all of it to get under the tight material) and dragged it down from her pale flesh. Christ, she wasn’t wearing panties.
He looked over her rising, falling belly. She craned her neck until she was looking down between her breasts. Peter pushed her shirt up next, the smooth flat plane of her stomach as taut as ever. He laid his hands down on it, feeling her body clench at his touch, and pressed his thumbs into the fleshy lips of her cunt, massaging the silky folds for a moment, then pulling them slowly outward. Parting the white pubic hair. Exposing her moist pink slit. Felicia was starting to moan.
He could see the delicate bud of her clitoris, twitching, gorging itself on the heated blood rushing through Felicia’s body. From Felicia’s perspective it was dwarfed by Peter’s wet lips. She subconsciously writhed her hips, her bare buttocks grating into the stone as a long, moist tongue emerged, flicking teasingly at the nubbin of raw nerve endings, the sight almost more erotic than the touch. Only then he touched her, and nothing could be better than that.
Felicia jerked at the shocking contact, her legs clamping on Peter’s head, her soft inner thighs claiming it as tightly as a vise. Peter was undeterred. His tongue lashed at her, opened her and entered her. Felicia gasped, hips jerking rhythmically up and down, moving at the pace set by Peter’s explorations. Soft mewling noises gurgled up from her throat as she slipped into an entrancement, gripped by uncontrollable lust, reminded forcibly of all she’d shared with Peter. And she’d thought she’d misremembered how good it was. Her torso writhed insanely, a breast slipping free of her low-cut top as her groin danced searchingly up against Peter’s face.
“Yes, put it in!” Felicia did not plead, but assumed Peter would please her, assumed her wishes were already being met. “Stick it in me before I lose my mind, yes, fuck me, yes!”
Her words had no sooner parted her lips than Peter reached down, unzipped himself, and drew himself up Felicia’s body to loom over her trembling face. His weapon in hand, he rubbed its length, its hardness into the wetly open mouth of Felicia’s cunt. Not entering her, but not quite denying her either. Groans of pleasure and frustration rose from behind Felicia’s clenched teeth. She looked from Peter’s savage smile to the instrument, thick and heavy, protruding from his hairy crotch. Surprisingly dark, as hard and cruel as a branch of redwood, spearing out from under his lean, muscular belly. Felicia shuddered as she watched it lap at her wide-spread pussy.
“Yes, put it in, inside me, where it belongs! Peter, Spider, shove it in! Shove your big hard cock into me! Give it to me hard! C’mon! This white pussy needs a fresh coat of paint!”
It was then that Peter’s phone rang. Manic Monday by the Bangles. It got to the verse about Sunday being his fun-day before he answered. “Gwen?”
Felicia actually smiled to herself . Confidence is one thing you’ve got in spades, Spider, she thought to herself. And admittedly, with one helluva a good reason… But let’s see if I can shake you up a bit!
Throwing the long stands of her silvery blonde hair back over her shoulders, she wound around Peter like a cat demanding to be petted. His erection was an easy, vulnerable target. With a wicked gleam in her eyes, she rested her head on his lap, her mouth open wide.
“Yeah, sorry I’m running late Gwen, my powers of disguise failed and I ended up having to sign a lot of autographs. I didn’t want to send any fans home—oh!” Peter muffled his surprise with a quick cough. He looked down, suddenly on fire with the sight of Felicia’s mouth distorted by his cock. “No, nothing’s wrong, just some of the things these folks want me to sign…”
He waved Felicia away, unable to keep his attention on the conversation with her arousing lips busy around his cock. Felicia batted her eyelashes up at him, doing her best to look innocent even as she licked and sucked his cock into snaking down her throat. It just kept getting bigger and bigger in her mouth…
“I sound funny?” Peter asked. “Probably a bad connection. And I think I’ve got a bit of a head cold. Filming all those night scenes in nothing but skintight… spandex…”
Felicia sucked deeply, pulling upward. His cock popped from her lips with a wet smack, like bubblegum popping. “I think you do have a cold coming on,” she whispered coyly up to him. “Your head feels like it’s swelling…”
She rolled her shining green eyes to his groin, enjoying watching it almost as much as sucking it. It was still growing, thickening, lengthening, the engorged crown twitching in the air. He might be talking with his wife, but his attention was all hers.
Felicia bowed down once more, offering her worship to the act of sex itself. Her pink, moist tongue curled out to run up the underside of his awakening manhood, swirling and licking the spade of his glans, setting his shaft to jerking madness. She opened her mouth wide and ducked her head again, but this time she dropped below his cock to let her tongue toy with his balls. Peter barely managed to moan a goodbye into the phone, took three tries to disconnect the call.
“I don’t know whether I should come in your mouth or spank your ass purple,” Peter moaned, his voice deep and lustful, as different from the one he used with Gwen as Peter Parker’s voice was different from Spider-Man’s.
“Who says it has to be one or the other?” Felicia purred, sliding back to the top of his prick, sucking his glans into her mouth, then his collar, then shaft and more shaft and more, and more…
She arched her ass into the air, wiggling it, as though teasing him as to which should come first. Peter reached out and groped the bubble of her ass, warm and juicy, the same ass he remembered fucking, licking, even putting beads into, not to be taken out until after they were done patrolling.
The flood of memories pushed him over the edge. He shot a huge load at her tongue, hot cum splashing through her mouth, washing back over her lips and chin. She swallowed the beginnings of the explosion, but couldn’t hold all of it. His cock kept jerking, kept launching more seed onto her writhing tongue.
“Cat, Cat!” Peter moaned. “You’re the best place for my cum, the very best—“
Felicia groaned, still lapping at his spurting cockhead. “All over my face--!”
“And your tits… your tight fucking pussy… feels so good, Cat, so good!”
Felicia licked all over his cock, then slicked her tongue down to his root and tickled his balls with it as he splatted a final squirt of jism across her face.
“So good,” Peter repeated one last time, falling back on his ass.
Felicia rose, her mouth dripping, her face covered with Peter’s cum. She used her hair to wipe it away. Making it invisible in all the white.
“I have to get back,” Peter said, exhausted. “I’m a married man… halfway, at least.”
“Alright,” Felicia said, tugging her pants up, bouncing up and down to get back into them. “But remember—you owe me a purple ass.”
***
Mary Jane’s seduction of Gwen had been slow and thorough. Just because Gwen had wanted it didn’t mean MJ had just given it to her. No, Mary Jane had determined that she would make Gwen really need it. That she would put Gwen truly at ease, dispelling all doubts or reservations. She would feel and think of nothing but pleasure when they finally consummated their desire.
Leaving Gwen panting with arousal, not to mention naked, she had gone to get them wine coolers. By the time she got back, Gwen had slipped into a satin dressing gown. Mary Jane had smiled and toasted her with the pair of Seagrams. She’d given Gwen ample opportunity to back out, knowing it was far too late for that. No, all that would happen over the course of the day was that what was always going to happen would become more and more certain.
They’d drunk together. Sat down together, Mary Jane getting close, staying close. It was like approaching a skittish deer, Gwen almost adorably Bambiesque as MJ got closer and closer. Letting Gwen smell her. Letting Gwen feel her. And finally, letting Gwen taste her, as they kissed once more, mouths sliding together with the fruity lubrication of the wine coolers.
It started raining, the sudden cloudburst spacing out the slow dance even more. They went around the house, closing the windows and the doors, Gwen feeling decadent as she skimped around in such scanty attire. The house felt even more intimate, her huddling in shelter from the rain with MJ at her side. Clutching together every time thunder sounded.
Mary Jane had massaged Gwen, still refusing to undress her or take the lovemaking past first base. Foreplay was the order of the day. She didn’t so much as touch Gwen’s kimono, not at first, instead kneeling to knead her feet, her legs—thumbing her hands, rubbing her arms from shoulder to wrist, her palms, the heels of her hands, circling, always circling.
It was Gwen herself who eased the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall down to her cleavage, holding it closed and holding it up at the apex of her breasts. And Mary Jane graciously massaged her shoulders, and combed her hair. When Gwen asked for a drink, Mary Jane brought her soda water. She didn’t even want Gwen tipsy.
When this happened, Gwen would have no excuse but that she wanted it. Wanted it so much more than she wanted to be a good wife, a good person, a good girl.
She even masturbated in front of Gwen, under the transparent guise of showing Gwen just how to work the vibrator she’d bought but been too ashamed to use. It’d been a lot of fun, cutting the tension for her but not for Gwen. She imagined Peter there, ramming himself deep inside her as she tongued just as deep into Gwen, all three of them fucking with a thrilling, powerful rhythm. That’d been enough to finish her.
Gwen’s hands were white-knuckled, holding the line of her robe. It had fallen almost completely below her breasts. Mary Jane could see the pink of her nipples, slipping over the censorship of the robe and then back behind it. God, how was it Peter wasn’t fucking this woman every night?
Peter could’ve asked himself the same question. He was watching, reddening, because he knew just how Gwen felt and just what Mary Jane was doing to her. Outside the window, in the pouring rain, he clung to the wall and stared through the glass as water sluiced over it, turning Mary Jane and Gwen into glazed distortions of themselves, obscurity bringing them together and melting them apart.
Mary Jane pulled Gwen to her feet. The blonde stood before her, holding onto the clasped robe in her grip like it was a crucifix warding off a vampire. Mary Jane put her hands on Gwen’s bare shoulders, rubbing them briskly, reminding Gwen of just how intimate they’d become—all the soft touches and soulful kisses they’d shared. There was no taking it back, no going back. They could only move forward.
Mary Jane pulled Gwen toward her, pursing her lips. When Mary Jane’s soft, warm lips pressed against hers, Gwen felt a sensation unlike any she had ever known. She didn’t know what was so different—she’d kissed MJ before, but it hadn’t been like this. She hadn’t enjoyed the feel of the redhead’s lips on hers so desperately, hadn’t kissed back, hadn’t heard a moan come from Mary Jane as she flung her arms around Gwen, holding her close, wet tongues slithering into open lips…
Then Gwen realized. It was her. She’d changed. She either no longer considered this a sin or no longer cared.
Maybe she was damned. Surely it didn’t count as a sin if you were in Hell.
Or if you were in Heaven, it wasn’t like they could kick you out…
“You’re so beautiful,” Mary Jane whispered, moving a hand between Gwen’s warm thighs, not touching them, merely holding her hand where they parted. “So very beautiful…”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Gwen replied.
“They’re all so beautiful.”
Gwen shivered, feeling the backs of Mary Jane’s knuckles brushing along her inner thighs, the hand under her robe now. She stared into MJ’s green eyes, her vision hazy with need, with newfound desire. She hadn’t known she could want anything like this, not after she’d gotten Peter.
She felt Mary Jane’s fingers rubbing lightly up and down the hem of her panties, right over her crotch, and almost came. Mary Jane smiled, knowing it, loving it.
Peter was lost in thought as much as the sight of them. Gwen had needed love, needed affection, just like anyone, but lately he hadn’t given it to her. And that had driven her to seek someone else. Obviously Mary Jane was doing a pretty good job of substituting for him.
“Why don’t you kiss me?” Mary Jane asked. Although Gwen’s lips were parted, she wouldn’t be satisfied with just another kiss. This she wanted from Gwen, wanted to be Gwen’s.
“Why don’t you kiss me first?” Gwen replied, her innocent smile made lewd by the context. She remembered the lewd story Mary Jane had told her about what she’d done in Gwen’s own broom closet. “Kiss me like you kissed Lily, you horny… horny bitch!”
Lily? What the hell? Apparently Mary Jane had picked up where he left off—no wonder Lil had mentioned MJ. How many of the lonely, horny women that Peter attracted were in Mary Jane’s orbit as well? And Gwen seemed to know about it and wasn’t even jealous. What kind of kinky business was this?
As Peter tried to puzzle it out, Mary Jane shoved Gwen back down to the couch she had first stranded her on, like a deserted island where Gwen’s only sustenance was the lust that Mary Jane brought her. Gwen let go of her robe as she fell, accidentally or on purpose, and her robe fluttered open as she landed.
Peter was struck by how wonderful Gwen looked naked. When was the last time he had seen her that way—really seen her, not just passed her unthinkingly as she got out of the shower or changed clothes? She was magnificent… her golden hair swirling around her face and down her chest, topping her breasts like caramel on two succulent scoops of ice cream. Then there was the small, perfect puff of blondeness at her loins, darker than the hair on top, tightly curled, adorning her cute pink cunt like gold plating.
Mary Jane licked into that butterscotch treasure, raking it up and down Gwen’s slit. Gwen moaned hoarsely, feeding MJ the copious cream Peter knew her to produce. And MJ liked the taste as much as he did. She whipped Gwen’s horny pussy with her tongue, devoured the juices, made Gwen gurgle and moan and tell Mary Jane how much she loved it.
Peter knew exactly how much she loved it, and he could guess how long it had been since he’d done it for her. He could have kicked himself. How much time had he squandered that he could’ve spent with Gwen? How much of it had been with other women, women he barely even cared for, like Karla or Lily? How could he blame Gwen for what she was doing after all he’d done and all he hadn’t been doing?
Then Mary Jane handed Gwen what could only be a vibrator. Peter wondered whose it was. MJ’s or Gwen’s? It wouldn’t surprise him to find that he’d driven Gwen to need a sex toy just to satisfy her needs. Only now it was doing more than that, it was exceeding all her wants and desires.
He watched Gwen race her tongue around and around the dripping dildo, licking up every drop of cream that Mary Jane had left on it. He listened to her squeal and gurgle as Mary Jane devoured her cunt. She’d made it plain that she’d wanted him, but he’d ignored her. Leaving the plate wide open for someone who wouldn’t.
“I,” Mary Jane sighed, kissing Gwen’s left thigh, “just love,” she kissed Gwen’s right thigh. “How you taste!”
“You have good taste yourself,” Gwen chuckled, doing a little sashay at the double entendre. “But… what about Peter?”
“You called him. He won’t get back until every one of his fans has his john han… cock.”
“He’s more interested in his career than in me,” Gwen said sadly.
“The idiot,” Mary Jane concluded.
Peter was hard-pressed to disagree. He watched MJ kiss Gwen’s liquid cunt and he could almost taste her himself. He sizzled with lust for her, for MJ… between the two of them, he damned near shot his load. But he managed to hold out. He wanted to make it up to Gwen for being a lousy husband, to Mary Jane for letting his subconscious create this warped funhouse reality marriage instead of staying faithful to her. He wanted to please them both the way they deserved.
“Oh, God, MJ, I need to come!” Gwen whimpered.
“You will,” Mary Jane panted. “You damn well better!”
She took the vibrator from Gwen and crammed it inside of her, pushing it to the base right alongside her rigid tongue. Gwen shuddered with pleasure, gave a muffled moan. She was being fucked hard and deep, just the way she liked it best. No wonder she’d given into MJ, Peter thought. The redhead was giving her everything she craved, everything he had stopped doing for her.
“Oh shit, Mary Jane! Mary Jane!” Gwen screamed. “Oh—Peter!”
Peter winced at the sound of his name. Well. No more secrets. He’d been discovered. He eased the window open, stepped inside, his wet clothes instantly darkening the carpet. For want of anything else to do, he kicked off his waterlogged shoes, shed his wet socks. At least he wouldn’t catch cold.
“Peter?” Gwen said again, only now it was wide-eyed, shocked, staring at him like he’d grown another four arms… which he had, once, so he knew what he was talking about.
She hadn’t seen him. She’d just… called his name as she came. Peter felt simultaneously… everything. She still had feelings for him, still wanted him, was thinking of him even as she strayed. But he’d exposed himself. Ended any possibility of keeping the polite fiction going. He knew he wasn’t Captain America when it came to morality, but even he couldn’t let Gwen think she was a sinner and he was the saint.
“I was with someone,” he said quickly, before Gwen could fully overcome her shock. “Lily Hollister. And Karla, the doctor… and Felicia Hardy, you don’t know her—“
Apparently, MJ did. “She’s very nice. You’ll like her.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter concluded. The wind picked up and kicked some rain through the open window, startling him. In a sudden fit, he went to the sash, closed it, no, tried to close it, struggled with the stubborn sliding mechanism, forced the material to the point of creaking, then calmed and slammed the sash down. The sound from outside went dead, the rain once more just a chorus on the outside of the house.
Gwen was speechless. Mary Jane wasn’t. She petted Gwen, the blonde almost instinctively relaxing into her touch… and she looked at Peter. “Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes?”
Gwen dipped her lips to Mary Jane’s ear. “Both of us?” And Mary Jane gave a nod. Then laid there, still, while Gwen undressed her. It was out of the frying pan, into the fire for Mary Jane. Gwen was one thing, but Gwen and Peter were quite another—her body burning, her cunt throbbing with wet desire… her blouse fell to the floor, breasts arching up in swollen readiness, nipples peaked in anticipation.
“C’mon, tiger. Fuck me. Fuck me just like you used to.”
“Used to?” Gwen asked.
“Don’t worry, Gwen. It was in another life…”
Peter walked forward with his clothing off, his cock standing up in throbbing hardness as he joined his wife and his wife on the couch…
