The next day, Kristy returned to the Parkers' apartment to see if Peter had developed her pictures yet. She let herself in, as Mary Jane had given her a spare key so she always had a place to go in the city... and stopped short, hearing voices through the open door.
"Stop that!"
"Why should I?"
"Because we got all dressed up so we could go out and get something to eat."
"You got all dressed up and now you look good enough to eat."
The man's voice was Peter's, but the woman's was too muffled for Kristy to recognize. Of course it had to be Mary Jane, though. And after the arousing, yet frustrating non-sexual photography session the other day, Kristy was eager to delve a little deeper into her cousin's sex life.
She slipped into the apartment and glided the door shut behind her, then tiptoed through the living room and into the hallway that ran from the bathroom to the bedroom.
"Oh, careful, I'm ticklish there!"
"Don't worry, Felicia I'm not going there, I'm headed
here."
There was a considerable shifting of weight on top of bedsprings and the sound of an empty bottle falling to the ground and rolling hollowly across the floorboards.
"MMMPH!"
Kristy felt ice melting down the curve of her spine. Felicia? Could that be Mary Jane's middle name? Kristy didn't think it was—she'd always thought her cousin's middle name was, well, Jane.
"What are you doing—?
Oohhh!"
Kristy edged closer and closer to the bedroom door until she could peek through the keyhole. Her mouth fell open in a silent groan. She could only see the man's back, but she knew it was Peter. She could also see what he was doing to the woman who wasn't his wife.
Mary Jane was well-endowed for a model, but she had nothing on this chick. A platinum blonde, her hair almost pure white, with what had to be at least Double Ds swaying gracefully in front of her, moving exuberantly with every little breath she took. They were perfectly round, like two prize melons, with nipples a dark rose color, sticking out hard and long like maraschino cherries atop two generous helpings of vanilla ice cream.
It was the most unpleasant thing Kristy had ever seen, but she was riveted to the sight—practically forced to watch as Felicia's fingers tangled in Peter's hair and brought another woman's man down to his knees before her.
Peter was no passive participant in this, though. He forced Felicia's legs open and moved closer and closer to her pantied groin. His hand was already at her sex, finger past her underwear and inside her, as though probing ahead to assure Peter that the warmth and sweetness he wished for was available here before him.
Its hot, rough friction was obviously more than enough for Felicia, though the slut still craved more. "OHHH, your finger, Spider, yes!"
For as long as she could remember, Kristy had not just idolized her glamorous cousin, she'd envied Mary Jane her loving marriage. The fondest wish in her romantic heart was that she'd find someone as perfect for her as Peter was for MJ: handsome and smart and funny and caring.
Now, in a moment, the man who'd exemplified male desirability for her had transformed from prince to monster. Mary Jane, that goddess of a woman, wasn't enough for him. He'd rather have this whore than the certain knowledge that Mary Jane was his—because surely he knew that if she ever found out about this, their contented little life together would be over!
Yet still he did this dirty, nasty thing with a woman who wasn't fit to hold Mary Jane's heels, except in physical appeal. And even that was cheap, tawdry, with those overfull breasts and those cock-sucking lips.
What kind of man would want a bitch in heat like this when Mary Jane's classical beauty was a phone call away? How could Peter not wait the few hours it would take for MJ to finish her work day and come home to him? How could any man be such a satyr that Mary Jane Watson, of all people, wasn't enough to satisfy him?
Kristy saw the bastard's hands wrap around Felicia's all-too-womanly hips, pulling at the zipper of the leather shorts that were all she wore besides a tiny halter top. Then he was taking them down, down along with her panties.
Felicia squealed indignantly as she was stripped, but let him get them all the way off, even kicking her legs up so he could work the garments off her feet. Then she sat on the bed, naked from the waist down, her ample ass wiggling on the bedspread. Her halter bared her belly and was cut almost all the way between her full breasts. As her breathing grew labored, the top seemed on the verge of splitting open.
"You left my high heels on," Felicia giggled. "Planning on taking a few pictures? You know how good I look in nothing but high heels..."
Kristy almost let out a moan. As if it wasn't enough that Peter had cheated on Mary Jane with this woman, he had also immortalized her with his photographer's eyes, betraying MJ in yet another way. To think, the same wonderful gift Kristy had been given—going to this harlot too!
Peter's hands crowned her knees, forcing them wide apart now that he didn't need to keep them together to get her bottoms off. And though Kristy could only see the back of his head, she knew by the way he stiffened that there was nothing else to remove, not anything to block his view of Felicia's cunt... perhaps not even a wisp of hair.
She'd seen Mary Jane coming out of the shower, her own pubic thatch shaven down to a playful notch above her womanhood. What if Felicia had even less? Her pussy as bald as Kristy's had been a few short years ago?
And what's more, Kristy remembered how Peter had aimed the camera between her legs before he snapped his pictures. They were artistic, lovely, but she knew that under his aesthetic eye was an echo of the attraction he must have for another Watson cunt.
The thought that now this Felicia was getting the full force of what Kristy had only sampled added to the pervading debauchery of the scene.
"
Ohh! Mmhmm!"
Felicia sighed, already crooning her pleasure as Peter's head ducked down into her lap.
