Earth-617
Felicia was feeling a little better after her bath, but her funk hung over her. And here Mary Jane had thought her body had an understanding with alcohol. It seemed like Felicia's hangover included the curse of drinking an Indian burial ground or something.
Still, Mary Jane's presence prodded Felicia into moaning, groaning functionality. She tried hopping into a pair of black leather pants, but they resisted her. It was a little like watching a video of an astronaut bumbling around on the Moon.
"Have my pants gotten tighter?" Felicia asked.
"I don't think that's possible."
"Seriously, did you shrink them in the wash or something?"
"I've done a superhero's laundry through symbiote invasions, apocalypses, and
clones.
I know when something is dry-clean only."
The buzzer buzzed. Mary Jane wished Felicia a hearty farewell: "Please put on some pants if we're going to have company."
Felicia's apartment didn't just have an intercom. You pressed the button, you got a live feed of whatever it was at the door. Mary Jane tried it. The face was instantly familiar. A blast from the past.
Peter?
She didn't say it. She didn't like to hope that hard, and she didn't want to get Felicia excited. Already she knew that it wasn't. She could feel that it wasn't. He looked like Peter—could've been Peter's brother—but his face was different, it had been lived in differently. The soul underneath burned at a different temperature. The shaved head, the scruffy jaw, those could've been Peter's, but the look in his eyes: no, never.
"Mrs. Parker? Or, uh, Watson?" His voice was gruff, used to shouting, threats. It scaled down to conversation unevenly. "I'm Kaine. We've met before?"
"Yeah, you almost got my husband sent to prison for murder once."
"To be fair, when isn't he being framed for something?"
Felicia poked her head out of the bedroom. "Is it a clone?"
"Yup."
"I think I dated one of them. Don't tell him I'm here."
"Is that Felicia?" Kaine asked.
"M-aybe?"
"It's her apartment." Kaine held up a letter to the camera. The address was done in Peter's neat handwriting. "Look, Peter wrote to me. I owed him a favor—I owe him a lot of favors—and basically, if he ever went down, I was supposed to keep an eye on you two."
"
Peter's not dead
," Mary Jane insisted, her sudden vehemence like a cat extending its claws.
"He never is," Kaine agreed. "Can I come up? I'm kinda over the whole lonely hero thing. I'd rather bodyguard you where there's air conditioning."
Mary Jane looked to Felicia, blanking out the transmission for the moment.
Felicia sighed and, toying with her pants' fight against her water weight, she called up her inner Facebook. "Kaine Parker... Scarlet Spider... been in Houston, doing the superhero thing, but he packed it in a while back. Not that great at it. I can sympathize. Not quite as crazy as he used to be. And yes, I did think of swiping left on him, but that's probably start some inner competition to collect the whole set. If you know what I mean. Though I did fool around with that black Spider-Man."
"Seriously?" Mary Jane asked. "He was, like, a
kid
."
"Not anymore."
***
Earth-69
"How do you think your wife would feel, knowing you used her as an excuse not to have sex?"
Peter glazed his eyes up over Janice's long, slender legs. The water had turned her pants into little more than paint. She wasn't wearing garters either. She had nothing to hide. Her skin, even filtered through a layer of wetly clinging fabric, was flawless. Almost too silken, too smooth.
She scissored her legs, causing the waistband of her costume to ride down her hips, expose a swath of belly and loins, the warm shadows of lines beginning to curve, deepen.
"And what would she think?" Janice asked, rubbing her thighs together with obvious pleasure, making her wet costume tangle and bunch. "Of my legs?"
He shouldn't have told her he was a married man. It'd been an automatic response, a habit he'd fallen back into now that he and Mary Jane and Felicia were together again. He loved being married, wanted to tell everyone. Even dubiously moral villainesses. Who, technically, he was allowed to 'date.' Encouraged, in fact.
Something else Felicia had told him. Getting love all tangled up with intimacy and sex. And friendship. Maybe it would clear his head a little to take their advice—Mary Jane had backed her up on this—and just have some meaningless sex in Dimension Slut. Then he could figure out what to do about this threesome problem.
Walloping websnappers, had he just referred to it as his 'threesome problem'? The Parker luck...
"She'd think they were beautiful," Peter said at last. "Anyone would."
"That's all?" Janice asked, flinging her knees impressively wide, wide enough that on either side of her crotch, the tendons on the insides of her thighs stood out from the strain.
Peter swallowed hard. No, it wasn't all. They were magical. There was something about the shape of her calves, her thighs, the texture of her skin. Like Felicia's breasts, like Mary Jane's smile, it did something to him, a new taste all its own filling his waiting body. This was a different lust than he felt for any of them, but no less strong, no less valid. Taste—yes, that was the word for it. Felicia, Mary Jane, they were air, they were water, he needed them to live. Maybe this was just a nice dumpling, a foot-long hot dog just when he was in the mood, but satisfying this momentary craving wouldn't diminish how much he appreciated
them
.
His cock pitched. The throb in his balls became awesome. He let it.
"Look at my legs," Janice cooed, stroking her toes hypnotically back and forth, like a ballerina beginning an achingly slow dance. "Look how long they are. And so
smooth
. How would you like to have them wrapped around you? Real tight around your back, so you could hardly breathe. With your cock going in and out of my pussy."
He groaned. With a few words, a minimum of movement, with her very confinement, she had brought him to full, aching erection. He played his hand over the join between the top of his costume and the bottom.
"No, Spider!" she said, grinning fiercely at him. "If you want these legs, you have to earn 'em."
She kicked off her shoes. Her breath left her—he could see her chest rising and falling faster within the confines of the webbing. "I want you to love my legs. I want you to kiss my feet and my ankles and my calves. Don't miss anything. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Peter nodded, swallowing to clear his drooling mouth. His cock had stiffened into a steely hardness, a lurid weapon jammed down the inside of his right pant leg. He approached her, amazed at how this quasi-submission, this openly voiced desire on her part so thoroughly took the worry of assault out of the equation. He felt like he'd used to when wrestling with Felicia—like she was willing to rub against him almost as a consolation prize for being caught. This was what they both wanted, so... why not?
He knelt before her. She put her bare, small feet on his shoulders. He felt both embarrassment and excited as he raised his mask over his nose, uncovering a Zorro-ish swath of skin before turning his head to nuzzle the side of her foot. Her skin was surprisingly soft, warm, not smelly or sweaty. He supposed she hadn't been walking around much with her flight suit operational. He kissed over her ankles, her instep, working his lips to her toes.
"Ooooh!" Janice moaned, rocking herself against the restraining confines of the webbing as his hot mouth seared over the underside of her foot.
Her toes were small and chubby, cute in a petite way, something unexplainably punk rock in the artful polish that splotched their nails. He opened his mouth and extended his tongue, swiping it from the sole of her foot to the ball to the underside of her toes.
"
Ohhhhh
," Janice cried, her face flushing with a rush of blood to the head. "Yes! Lick them. Lick 'em, Spider!"
Peter did just that. Feeling wickedly subordinate to this woman, yet decidedly domineering for having subdued her, he slathered his moist tongue between her toes, feeling her spread them apart as she squirmed in delight.
"Suck them!" she begged. "Suck!"
He let her thrust her toes into her mouth. She tried to force them in and out of his pursed lips, but he sucked on them too hard, bit down a little, holding them inside his furnace of a mouth as he sucked so hard, he could see the goosebumps rise on her legs.
"Oh! Ohhh!" Janice wailed, grinding her hips back against the wall, the cotton-soft vibration of even that on her pussy better than nothing. She couldn't get off without him. Peter was ridiculously turned on by that.
He pushed the legs of her garment up her calves, kissing and licking her ankles. Her legs were as long and as smooth as they had appeared through the soaked clothes. Exposing them seemed to make her especially sensitive. When he reached her calves, he could've sworn she had an orgasm—letting out a piercing shriek, throwing her head back, thrusting her pussy out with her knees spread as far apart as they'd go.
The smell of her arousal hit him, making him want to just close his eyes and savor her. He felt an odd un-guilt over a sudden desire to erase the scents of MJ and Felicia from his mind, replace it with this, so when he got home they would be as new and as special as they should be.
He lapped hungrily behind her knee—Mary Jane had always loved that. Janice's breathing was heavy, hoarse now, while his cock felt raw and wet. He wanted to fuck her, fuck her without reservation, but he didn't want to shatter the delicate give-and-take of their mutual dependence. He was going to finish the job, lick every square inch of her legs, and, teasingly, he did that as quickly as he possibly could, sliding his tongue up to the silky smooth flesh of her inner thighs. But there, he lingered to paint the sensitive skin with his warm saliva, knowing it would drive her mad.
"Oooooh,
yes!
