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In Every World, In Every Story update
🕑 Added 2016-03-25 17:27:14 +0000 UTC “So you bought our love or our marriage or whatever you want to call it. So what? Peter and I found each other before. We’ll find each other again.”“That’s not what I’m interested in, Mrs. Parker. My father is looking to… siphon goodness from the world. He wants to hoard what he’s bought. Me, I want to grow my stock. Get more power from it.”
“And how would you go about doing that?”
“It’s simple, Mr. Parker. And you can even do it together, if you like it…”
Upon waking, it took Mary Jane a moment to remember where she was. Long night. Long day. She’d been up half the night… more than half the night… and now she’s woken up at dusk. Perfect. Great for her tan.
Last night/day had been another fawning period of celebrity. She’d gone with Millie and Patsy to Mortimerville, where they’d been greeted by Jason Wyngarde and his famous hospitality. MJ was pretty sure Patsy had slept with him. At least Patsy.
Everyone had put on their Caribbean garb and flowered around his personal suite, been treated to a seafood dinner… Millie was too nervous to eat much, but Mary Jane never turned down lobster. And then Wyngarde had said he didn’t just want one of them for the new modeling contract, but all three of them. They’d jumped up, squealed, hugged each other… Patsy had practically wrapped herself around the redhead like a car crashing into a streetlight… (Maybe it wasn’t Wyngarde she had slept with.)
Then there’d been signed papers, uncorked champagne, and just enough uppers to get Mary Jane through the shuttle ride for the flight back to New York. She’d spent the flight better medicated than a cancer patient. Then somehow she’d ended up back in her apartment…
She hoped it was her apartment. She really wasn’t in the mood for ‘you call me’ ‘no, I’ll call you’…
She wasn’t in much of a mood for anything.
Sweeping her legs off the bed, Mary Jane settled her feet on the carpet. Yes. Definitely her apartment. And she’d come home alone. Not even a flight attendant as a souvenir. Well, that fit her mood as well. She stumbled at first, heading to the bathroom, then put on a sultry stroll just for the hell of it, impressing herself as she approached the mirror.
MJ, you look simply delectable. She had tawny crimson hair that bounced from her shoulders like it had its own personal wind. Her eyes were large, only slightly narrowing with her usual large smile, that crinkled her lips and lifted her cheeks and seemed almost too wide to leave room for the green orbs to shine with merriment, but there was always enough space for them. And if she was adorable from the neck up, then from the neck down she was outright sensual. High, round breasts, a tight trim ass, a set of legs that seemed to have designed to wrap around a man… all spun together into the nubile, bouncy sort of flesh that seemed almost too sexual for her adoring smile and bright eyes.
And she was naked.
Getting on in years, tigress… but who the hell can tell? Surveying her naked body, Mary Jane couldn’t find the slightest flaw, anything that would give a man pause in pursuing her. There was nothing. At twenty-nine, she looked almost the same as she had when she’d started acting with Peter, fresh out of high school, and she had the nudes to prove it. It took exercise, Yoga, a very exclusive mutant’s very high-priced power, and more jogging than anyone not named Quicksilver should do, but she’d avoided both the scalpel and wrinkles. And she hadn’t put on a pound in years.
Her breasts were still full and high, smoothly separated, capped in small dark nipples that seemed to carry all the perkiness in her body. Her abdomen was trim and long, flaring out into womanly hips and a curvy ass that turned yoga pants into ripe fruit. Below that, slender legs carried her with long, gliding grace. She could still walk a runway, dance in a music video, even pirouette if the Spider-Man movies ever remembered she (or rather Gwen) was a ballerina. And certainly, there’d been plenty of men and women who’d enjoyed her body, even more than they had when she was younger. Back then, after all, she was just Mary Jane Watson. Now she was The Mary Jane Watson, supermodel, actress, secondhand Gwen Stacy, Mrs. Spider-Man…
The only problem was that none of it seemed real.
It wasn’t just the dreams. She was an actress—if weird dreams were the worst of her issues, even she’d think she was boring. It was how real… some of it felt. Acting scenes with Peter. Playing his wife. Kissing him. Or even just joking around at press conferences, doing photoshoots together, getting to pretend to be the dutiful wife. Everyone else talked about how underwritten Gwen was, what a lame part it was, but MJ had always had a soft spot for it. Just being Mrs. Spider-Man in those ridiculous movies.
Only now it was more than that. Now it barely even felt like acting. Playing hide and seek with the paparazzi, getting pampered at spas, making it rain at the hottest nightclubs or watching the Superbowl from a private skybox—that was acting. That was someone else.
She wondered if Peter knew she’d been writing her own dialogue. Hell, in the Gwen scenes, she rewrote his dialogue too. And he seemed to be delivering it better, more passionately—he was no Julliard graduate, but he seemed downright naturalistic in the scenes she wrote. Like that was really how he was with…
Gwen Stacy.
Mary Jane would call Patsy. If they hadn’t slept together yet, there was no reason they shouldn’t. Or no, maybe a brunette.
A brunette with short hair…
***
Peter got back to Queens late. He ran out of skyscrapers to swing from fast, but it was probably good for him to walk the rest of the way, slowing down, cooling off. The streets were deserted this deep into the evening, so he was able to avoid the usual mob that his costume would bring.
Queens barely resembled his childhood memories anymore. Since the House of M, it had been gentrified for mutant yuppies. His aunt and uncle’s place had doubled in value several times, and Peter was well aware that the only reason they hadn’t been forced out was his good graces. He’d bought out the entire block, transforming it into the Parker compound, the old house scalped and retained as Ben and May’s wing of the place, sans exterior walls and roof. The rest had been built up by the mutant Frank Lloyd Wright.
Gwen was waiting up for him inside the gate, pushing it open as he came through. She didn’t seem angry, but strangely excited. He asked her the reason, but she was coy and evasive, only offering him a martini she’d had waiting for him. Peter took it and, though he rarely drank, thought that this was a good time. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be in Gwen’s good graces…
Peter knew it was supposed to calm him down, but it didn’t do much for him. He usually had an uneasy suspicion that the other shoe was going to drop, and the interludes with both Karla and then Lily had raised that suspicion to Threat Level Orange. Bad enough he’d fucked his therapist, but his best friend’s girl? He’d never been the tabloid fodder type, the guy cheating on his wife with the nanny or going to cocaine orgies with a girl half his age, but all of a sudden it was like he was making up for lost time, filling entire episodes of TMZ with his shenanigans. Fuck, what was wrong with him?
He’d make it up to Gwen. He would. The moment he got Gwen through the front door, he would take her in his arms and—
“Surprise! Surprise!” The shrill chorus greeted them the moment they got through the door, the lights blasting on to reveal a banner, a cake, balloons, confetti and party streamers coming at him like Crusher Hogan with a secondary mutation.
“What the Christ?” Peter asked, looking around at the roomful of friends and family who stood laughing, clapping, and whistling. Mary Jane streamed in, looking like a billion dollars instead of her usual million, and kissed him on the cheek. Gwen was a close second, kissing his other cheek fast so both their lips were touching him at once.
Peter was shocked at how deeply he could blush, considering what he’d just gone to Harry’s fiancé.
Shit, if they wondered where she was…
“Happy birthday, tiger,” MJ said happily, rubbing at the lipstick mark she’d left on his cheek with the heel of her hand.
Everyone was crowding around Peter now, hugging him, laughing, offering him congratulations or jokes or rubbing his newly bald head. Peter was touched, even by the head touches. He’d always felt so alone, so isolated, and yet, he had so many people who cared about him. All his closest friends, welcoming him into their midst, every one of them as glad to see him as he was to see them. Curt Connors, Jean DeWolff, Marla Jameson, Ned Leeds, Ezekiel Sims, Phil Urich, Flash Thompson… it seemed like ages since he’d seen them. An eternity.
“Peter? Is everything alright?” Gwen asked, hanging from his arm. “Aren’t you happy?”
“I’ve never been so happy,” Peter said, pulling her close.
***
Karla wondered if this was how a man felt as he mounted a girl and used her for his pleasure—this awesome sense of power. She pressed the dildo’s button for only ten seconds. Emma howled like a banshee and clawed Karla’s back nearly to ribbons, fucking the vibrating cock like it was what she’d always wanted.
“Let me know when you’re ready to come,” Karla whispered, seeing how tightly she could squeeze Emma’s plump ass in her hands. She fingered the crevice, locating the tiny asshole, probing it with her middle finger.
“Fuck, Sofen, such a beautiful bitch you are, unnngh, crazy about your cute little tits, oh God, luscious little pussy, yes, darling, yes!” Emma was sobbing loudly, tugging at Karla’s hair, shaking her own head from side to side with bliss. “Gonna come now! Gonna get my rocks off with you, you darling, you angel, oh!”
Then Karla moved fast, slipping the humming dildo from Emma’s womanhood, placing its massive cockhead squarely at Emma’s trembling anus.
“Wait, no, let me come first, just let me---eeeeee!”
With all her savage strength, Karla thrust herself forward, slamming the strap-on as deep as she could into Emma’s asshole.
Karla wasn’t going to punish Emma with pain. She was going to pay her back for all the pleasure she’d given her, as well as the pleasure she’d given that bastard husband of hers. In fact, Karla would take Emma’s pleasure to the ultimate extreme, into the bizarre fringes where it was quite possible Emma’d never be able to enjoy anything else.
Karla pressed down the button, holding it and holding it and holding it…
***
“Parker!” Jameson yelled, catching Peter’s attention over the din of the crowd. “Sorry!” he apologized immediately. “Didn’t mean to yell. I just wanted to wish you, ah…” He had a glass of wine in his hand. Trying to make a toast.
“Everyone, quiet down,” Peter said, his own calm voice doing the trick. “J.J.’s got something to say.”
Peter couldn’t say J.J.’s toast was very touching, sincerely meant as it was, Jameson grateful that he’d kept his job after the mutant quotas had started. But he let the old goat rattle on. He knew he’d hired Jonah mostly to give him a hard time for the beating he’d given Peter when he’d started slinging webs, but now, officially one year older, all that ranting at Jameson suddenly struck him as petty and immature. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself be so small-minded. He couldn’t believe Ben and May had let him get away with it, or that Gwen had put up with it.
(He didn’t realize, at the time, that the only person he’d really hidden his abuse of Jameson from was MJ.)
At any rate, it was far past time to stop using Jameson as his personal punching bag for a difference of opinion they’d had back when Peter was seventeen. He was married now, for Christ’s sake. What the hell kind of example was he setting?
Yeah, Parker, what example are you setting? a snickering voice in the back of his head asked, going off like his spider-sense. Balls deep in two different women in as many hours, neither of them your wife, not even your redheaded work wife…
Shut up, Peter told his subconscious firmly. I’m having a moment here.
Mary Jane came up to him, bearing gifts, or no, alcohol. The gifts were piled up in a corner like a Pyramid at Giza. “And how is the birthday boy? Regretting his haircut yet? Because while I have heard that Jameson thinks you’re a dickhead, probably unwise to lean into that…”
“Chill, Watson, my parents are here, both sets.”
“Oh, really? I’ll have to stop envying you then. Rich, famous, and married to the most beautiful woman in the world. And able to yell at Jameson until his ears ring. What is all that next to having to keep things TV-PG?” Mary Jane asked, batting her long lashes with sudden… knowledge, it seemed.
Peter coughed and downed his drink to cover it. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world. Didn’t People tally the votes right?”
“Oh, I’m not a woman, I’m a goddess.”
“Here’s your tribute then, holy one.” Peter handed her his empty drink. “I gotta go to the men’s room.”
“Try not to pull anything,” MJ teased.
***
There was blood on Emma’s lips—her own—and her bright blue eyes were glazed with shock. But there was a sweet, unthinking smile on her lips.
Karla loomed over her, her long golden hair brushing Emma’s cheeks, her own smile radiant with mad joy. Her breasts were lewdly rubbing against Emma’s own swollen cleavage. She nudged her hips only a few inches and an agonized scream tore from Emma’s throat.
She had come again.
“So you’re happy with Scott, hmm? You’re completely satisfied by him?” Karla purred. “Then how come you’re so wet, sis? I’ve barely even started fucking you. I’ve barely even put it in…”
Emma whimpered meaningless sounds. The blazing mass in her rectum, humming insanely away, sent waves of pure sensation shuddering through her body. She didn’t know if it was pain or pleasure, and it didn’t matter. She mustn’t make Karla push the button again. She needed Karla to push the button again.
“Please!” she begged in a hoarse whisper. “Come? Just one more time? I’ll give anything—anything…”
Karla smiled sweetly and groped for the button while Emma braced herself, praying she wouldn’t lose her mind…
“Your husband?” Karla asked coyly.
“Yes!” Emma moaned.
“Men? You’ll go out and pick up men for me?”
“Yes, yes, of course!”
“Lick my pussy?”
“Yes!”
“Every night?”
“With pleasure!”
Karla pushed the button.
Emma clung to her tightly, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.
That was how he found them when he entered the bedroom—Emma clawing at Karla’s shoulders helplessly, Karla issuing mad moans of delighted excitement. Scott Summers watched the two of them fucking in a frenzy of twisted passion.
***
Peter pulled off his mask in the bathroom, tossing it down the hamper. It stared up at him with its empty eyes from atop the pile of dirty clothes inside. Peter exchanged glances with it, then went to the sink, spooling out water from the tap and splashing it in his face.
He couldn’t believe he’d gone to his birthday party in his union suit. Everyone thought it was such a gas, some reverse-prank he’d pulled on them and their surprise party, his costume now swimming in glitter and confetti, the sweat-soaked material attracting the stuff like flies to a corpse. A quick shower. He had time for that, Peter thought, pulling his top off. Mary Jane sometimes changed clothes two, three times throughout a party.
But suppose his costume smelled of Karla? Or Lily? Their perfume, his cum… juices. Growling, Peter retrieved his mask and tossed it into the sink, then threw his uniform shirt in as well, rinsing them both under cold water, then hot, giving them a thorough going over with the bar of soap. He hoped that would be enough to disinfect them. As a kid, he’d helped out around the house, but when normal kooks would be moving out, he’d been getting servants to do his washing up for him. Not to mention Gwen, fucking Gwen, God help him, Gwen, his wife…
“Did you think I wouldn’t see?” Gwen asked, and there she was in the doorway, watching him wash slutty off his costume.
She still wore her loose red overdress, leaving her arms and legs bare along with some of her cleavage. It was loose and thin enough that he could get an idea about what was covered. Her face was a bright, but still lovely, shade of red, and her lips were parted.
“Gwen?” Peter said, then felt himself channeling Downton Abbey. “Our guests…?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Gwen insisted. “That tight little number you’re wearing, still showing off your ass as well as ever… and your cock. It’s practically obscene.”
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Very obscene. I’ll just go change…”
Gwen closed the door behind her. She stared at him, her eyes wild. “What’s the hurry?”
In a moment, she was kissing him deeply, hungrily, reaching down to grope her way into his pants. She got her hand around his cock, giving it a few slow jerks as she thrust her tongue into his mouth.
“I have a lot of presents to give you,” she panted. “But I think we’ll open this one right now…”
Then she thrust her mouth against his again, taking his cock out, covering it with both hands, smearing the precum all over its head, moaning in desire even though he was the one being jerked off.
“Damnit, you’ve got me so hot! I have to do something about it! Have to…!”
She got down on her knees in front of him, hands still rubbing over his cock like she was working on a pottery wheel. She guided it to her parted lips, moaning one last time as she sucked it into her mouth, into her throat, gulping him down. Peter reached out, running his hands through her soft hair, hips working tirelessly to plunge him between her sensuous lips.
“Yes, yes, yes, NO!” Peter grunted, backing up. “The party… the guests… supposed to be back by now!”
The backs of his thighs collided with the toilet and he sat down heavily, Gwen trotting after him on her knees, grabbing his cock again, even harder this time. She jerked it with all her might. “Let ‘em wait!” she told him. “Sometimes the star has to go backstage so the supporting cast can shine. And I would love for you to go backstage. Or should that be into my star…?”
Then she was sucking even harder, palming his balls as she mouthed him voraciously. She gulped down the drops of precum that had formed on his cockhead, Peter hoping like hell she wouldn’t tell the difference between the lingering cum he’d had after Karla (and after Lily, doooon’t forget Lily!). He was damned lucky he hadn’t stained his damn spider-pants rawing those damn sluts… maybe third time would be the time. Gwen definitely seemed to be in the mood to try for baby number two. She was actually jerking him off with her lips, trying to get more cum.
“It’s time, Peter, it’s time!”
Gwen slipped his cock out of her mouth and quickly bent over the hamper, lifting her ass up and pulling her loose dress over her waist. She wore no underwear, none whatsoever, and her luscious pink slit was totally exposed. Then it was pretty much on display, the shocking pink everywhere as she slid two fingers into herself, literally showing him how to fuck her, begging him to fuck her.
There was only one problem.
Peter may have been Spider-Man, but he wasn’t Wolverine. Coming so many times in under an hour meant his reserves were quite simply depleted, and the same blood that had once coursed through his impressive erection now stubbornly refused to enter it again. Gwen stared in disbelief at his cock as it defied her, staying soft no matter how she cajoled and stroked it.
“C’mon, Peter, stop worrying. Just let it happen,” Gwen begged, moving in with her lips, her tongue, her hands, even pulling the cock down to rub it against her breasts, squeezing them shut over it, her mouth fallen open as if to further promise safe harbor for his erection as soon as it showed.
I know I’m not the best at this, but come the fuck on! Gwen thought as Peter remained almost stubbornly soft.
“Gwen, that’s really not necessary—“
“I can do it!” Gwen insisted, equally stubborn. She promised herself, as a woman and as a feminist, not to leave this bathroom without a mouthful of Peter’s cum. A bellyful!
Long minutes later, Peter’s cock slid out of Gwen’s tired lips. It was still soft.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Gwen protested, angry with Peter for being too neurotic to fuck her, angry with herself for doing this while kneeling on the tile floor so now her knees were giving her holy hell. “Look at me! I’m blonde! I’m a good girl, but I’m being all, you know, naughty! Like a sexy librarian! Do you want me to wear glasses, is that it? A pleated skirt? A white blouse? Just tell me what you need!?”
“Gwen, it’s not like that, you’re the perfect woman—“
“Okay, is that the problem? Do you need me to dress up like Johnny Storm?”
“Gwen!”
“I don’t mind! Like I said, you can go backstage, through my star—into my butt! I don’t care!”
“It’s not that!” Peter insisted furiously. “It’s just that I… that I…?”
“Yeah!?” Gwen demanded. She was still jerking him off, seething with frustration, and Peter wanted more than anything to put her mind at ease. She deserved that way more than the truth.
“I jacked off before I came here.”
“You what?”
“I was wearing the costume and I was having some trouble… regulating and it’s skintight and the last thing I need is to be photographed with a huge boner running down my leg, so I just… you know… in private… and I thought of you, of course, obviously!”
“And you came?” Gwen asked despairingly.
“Well, yeah. And that was the end of that?”
“Was it a lot?” Gwen asked, now in an absent voice.
“Yes, a whole lot, but if I had known you wanted to—“
“A whole lot? So… more than once?”
“Uh, well, yeah. You know how it is… doesn’t go down the first time…”
“That’s right,” Gwen said, now sounding almost in a fugue state. “Doesn’t go down the first time…”
“Once I come three or four times, then I’m finished.”
“Three or four times…”
“And I really didn’t want to take any chances of a, of a reoccurrence, so I…”
“Three times? Or four?”
“Four.” Peter chuckled weakly. “In a way, it’s kinda your fault. I was thinking of you in that Halloween costume you wore, you know, the Mrs. Spider-Man one, in white, with the hoodie?”
“Hoodie…?”
For some reason, doing this, baffling someone with an onslaught of verbiage, seemed very familiar to him. Peter didn’t know he was so good at improv. Maybe he should go over the script of the next movie. “I mean, you always look great, but that thing, oh man. Who’d you get to design that, anyway? I should get them to redo my suit.”
“Redo…” Gwen said as if having a stroke. “Do… again…”
Peter gingerly pulled himself away, until her jerking hand released him. “Maybe you oughta lie down.”
“Yes,” Gwen said, practically in a trance as Peter hoisted her up and set her down on the toilet seat. Her hand was still lightly pumping back and forth.
“I’ll just, uh…” Peter tucked himself away into his pants and grabbed a shower robe from the wall hooks. “I’ll just change. Then we’ll go back to the party and get some more celery dip. Because that’s some great celery dip. You’ll be kicking yourself if you don’t eat a metric ton of it.”
“A ton… a metric ton…” Gwen’s eyes rolled back in her head, which drifted back to rest against the toilet tank. She suddenly seemed extremely relaxed. Like she’d taken a few cocktails and they’d just hit her all at once.
“I’ll just save you some, yeah?” Peter said, and opened the door.
Lily Hollister stood there with a huge smile on her face.
