Every time he gripped a webline, every time his fingers extended to clutch a wall and haul him up a building, Peter felt the ring on his finger. And he knew that there was another, just like it, on Mary Jane's finger. He goddamn loved it. He was going to be a good husband, a good man, one day—a good father.
Another flick of his wrist; he let momentum whip him around, fired another webline, felt the ring as he swung into a dash over a rooftop, jumped, swung. Heard burglar alarms going off.
Twitched his head to the left to see a dark shape jumping from building to building, pumping arms and legs burnished black in the golden sunset. A length of webbing no longer than a jumprope whirled him around a water tower. He dashed over two brownstones, leapt into the air, let another webline carry him right behind whoever was fleeing the scene. He saw white hair whipping the air over a white fur collar. Felicia.
"Cat," he greeted, "glad to see you getting your jogging in. Staying active. What's that in your hand?"
"This?" Felicia asked, glancing at the jewel-encrusted scepter bobbing up and down as she ran with it in her hand. "No idea. Tripped over it, picked it up, bringing it to the lost and found now. Or maybe it might make a good paperweight."
"Uh-huh..." A police helicopter flew overhead. Felicia skidded to a stop, taking cover under a rooftop AC unit. Spider-Man, with nothing to hide, landed on top of it. Gave the chopper a wave. "You seem suddenly camera-shy."
"I have a pimple."
"I can't see it."
"You've been staring? Hard to tell with that creepy mask."
"Kids love my mask."
"Kids love PewDiePie too. Doesn't mean I have to like it. So, saw your name in the wedding announcements."
The helicopter was gone. Felicia scampered out from under her hiding place. Drawing a climbing line from her belt, she cinched it around a chimney pipe and walked down the face of the building. Peter crawled beside her.
"You read the wedding pages often?"
"Weddings make for good loot. Plus, lots of lonely bridesmaids."
"I'd make you my best man, if I didn't think your speech would be about us having sex for four hours."
"Don't wanna get MJ's hopes up?"
Felicia gave a little hop, letting the line swing her out, then physics brought her back through the open window she'd been descending to. She slipped right through, cutting the line so she landed on her feet unencumbered. As Peter vaulted in, upside-down, he saw it was her place. Or someone else had stolen that David Specter painting of him.
Peter hung from the ceiling. "Why don't you hand it over and I'll see if I can talk MJ into inviting you to the wedding? You can seduce all the bridesmaids you want."
"Spider, Spider, Spider—
what
would you even do with the Scepter of Amon-Tesh? Give it back to the authorities?" Felicia pulled aside a painting on the wall and unlocked the safe behind it.
"Yes."
"See? I can't trust you with it." She tucked the scepter into the safe. Locked it back up. "But I can give you something that's worth just as much."
"The Clippers?"
Klik
as a claw sprouted from the fingertip of one glove, then unerring hooked in the eye of the zipper at her throat. She pulled it in one steady motion down the front of her body. Felicia had seen Mary Jane's body—she did enough lingerie photoshoots to sear it into Felicia's memory. And the girl was cute, Felicia could admit. Leggy, well-proportioned, with a sweet face and a nice smile.
But Felicia was
overendowed,
double F-cups bursting her unzipped catsuit into a vee of exposed flesh the moment the integrity of her latex costume was compromised. Instantly, Felicia's pale breasts sought the sun, goosepimpling as cool air washed over them, the suffocating heat of her suit escaping into the atmosphere. She knew what Peter was thinking as she toyed the zipper down to her groin.
He was thinking how Mary Jane was beautiful, and sexy, and he loved her. But she worked at what she did, even if she made it look effortless. Put on make-up, coordinated her outfits, put endless thought into how she swung her hips and leaned down to tease just a little of her breasts, and walking that thin line between style and crassness had made her a supermodel.
But Felicia just
was
sex. She stood there, just stood there, and the latex catsuit flowed over her like a million hands, endlessly touching her. She twisted—the latex barely wrinkling, seeming unable to part from her body, just tightening and flexing like it was trying to rip but never could—and Peter saw her ass. She didn't have to do anything there. The perfect bubble of it bulged from her proudly straight back, pushing the limits of her catsuit so hard that it clung not only across the sloping hills of her buttocks, but well into the curvature of her ass. It was painfully obvious she wasn't wearing any panties.
One long leg climbed up into the air with impossible flexibility, Felicia bringing her white boot parallel to her face. With a wicked smile at Peter, she extended her tongue and licked the shiny leather she wore from just under the fur trim at her calf to the bottom of her stiletto heel.
Then, graceful as a ballerina, Felicia bent her leg back down so that the heel she'd made so glossy with her tongue now rested on a small table. A stirring of her thigh muscle—Peter imagined he could see it pull taut, right through the latex that graced her like a layer of paint—and Felicia vaulted onto the tabletop. Facing away from Peter, letting him take another look at her ass, where the latex of her costume was so tight it was almost like her skin, like Peter could've just grabbed her ass and
had it
in his hand, the costume intangible, her warmth and her bare flesh all his the moment he touched her...
Felicia flicked her leg out again, stiletto heel leading the way like a sword, a graceful splitting of Felicia's legs as she reached out to touch a wall unit holding several controls for the room's heat, light, locks. One absurdly loud click of her heel and the sound system was playing something fast, something sexy. Peter didn't notice her hitting the other button.
***
As it so happened, Mary Jane was admiring the sparkle of her new ring when her phone beeped. She quick-drew it, not looking away from her rock until the last possible moment, when she looked at the screen and saw that someone was sending her a streaming video. Maybe some guy's dick, maybe live footage of Iron Man fighting a dinosaur. She decided to take a chance. She was unlisted, and it'd been a good long while since her phone has last been hacked.
Her phone's wallpaper was replaced with what looked like a spy camera's view of a ritzy apartment. Right in the middle of it... was that Black Cat?
***
"Remember our dates, Spider?" Felicia asked, her voice dangerously low as she swayed to the music. For now it was soft and so was she, the instrumental carrying her like a gentle breeze blowing around a leaf. "We'd fight crime, live on the edge, risk our lives because there wasn't anything else they were good for. While you and MJ ate burgers. Went
dancing.
Well, I can dance."
The music hit. Felicia felt it push and pull inside her, shook her body the way it wanted her to, the way Peter wanted her to. Her flesh shifted and strained inside the latex catsuit, every motion jogging the zipper lower, her breasts getting closer to escaping.
"Mary Jane may have nice tits and she may have a nice ass,
but I
know what they're for..." Stopping except for a light, feline twitch of her hips, Felicia pursed her hands on the bottom of her collar's fur trim. Her latex had slipped so far that the darkness of her areolas peeked out; her fingers actually covered them. If nothing else, she was going to prove how desirable she was. She was going to take Mary Jane's man, have Peter crawling on the floor before she let him take her, too. "Take off your mask."
Peter ripped it away, revealing the lust and desire that twisted his sweetly handsome face. The music crescendoed—Felicia ripped open her catsuit—only gave Peter a tantalizing glimpse of her massive breasts before she covered them with her hands. The warm, soft flesh more than filled her hands; she squeezed them to remind Peter they were real, firm, begging for his touch.
Once he put his hands on them, they would be all his, resisting just a little when he squeezed, just enough to make it interesting. She saw him swallow, felt his eyes on her hands as she rubbed her palms across her nipples. Making them nice and stiff for him.
"Take out your cock," she ordered now.
He did, tugging his costume down over an expanse of his lower belly and off the erection that had swelled at his groin. It came out like a Jack-in-the-box, flexing itself upward nearly to his abs, straining, bulging, veins throbbing with power and life. Felicia admired the brazen escape.
She responded in kind, sliding her hands down to the vast undersides of her cleave so he could see her nipples, rock-hard as if begging for attention. She lifted her breasts, thumbing her nipples to show off how stiff they were, then licking the slopes of her breasts. With their size, it was an easy thing to lick all the way to her areolas. Peter groaned aloud as she played with her breasts right in front of him.
Felicia kissed each of her nipples in turn, like she was showing him what she wanted him to do, and with his fists trembling at his sides, Peter took a short, involuntary step forward as if his cock were tugging at him impatiently. Felicia's thumbnails snapped across her nipples, sending electric shocks through her tits.
"Are you a breast man, Spider?" she called teasingly. Turning. Giving him her back again, taking her hands off her breasts, so large that he could see the sides of them, even as her hands slid down her hips to squeeze her ass. Show him it was just as soft and firm and touchable and fuckable as her tits. "Maybe you're an ass man?" She barred her cleavage with one arm as she turned back around, using her free hand to pluck at her zipper again. Every flick of her finger jotting it down a little further. "Or are you a pussy man?"
"Why choose?" Peter asked, looking up at her as her finger ticked the zipper over her kinky pubic hair. "Maybe I'll just fuck 'em all."
Felicia cried out, a joyous laugh as Peter hauled her off the table, threw her down on a couch. His cock was so big and hard and long and big; he pulled her hands aside and looked at her costume, from the wide-open vee at her cleavage to the thin, tapered Y her zipper led down to. His breath was coming hard, noisily, as his eyes
devoured
her. He wouldn't let himself touch her yet.
"You know, you've been a very naughty girl today," Peter said.
"I haven't
started
being naughty."
"Taking things that don't belong to you..."
"It's not like I was taking it from the Egyptians—"
"Trying to seduce a married man..."
"Not married yet."
