Chronicles of Spider-Man Ch. 03

Felicia Hardy, aka the Black Cat, slowly rappelled down the side of the building; the rear alley she had chosen was devoid of streetlights and apparently deserted. The young burglar had waited for almost an hour while hidden in shadows, just to observe any activity in the alley. Her skin-tight costume, which made her almost invisible to the eye, was completely black except for white gloves and boots, with light fur around the low-cut neckline of her costume.

Being patient paid off; there was no activity in the alley, whatsoever. Not only Felicia was a skilled thief, but also a knockout; she had long blonde hair, so light-colored it appeared almost white, falling straight past her shoulders. Also, large blue eyes, full reddish lips just made for sucking cock, a thin waist that gave her a light hourglass figure, large firm but soft breasts, 36C, a perfect tight and round behind and a pair of legs that seemed to reach on forever. She was virtually every guy's fantasy and more.

The young woman was using an Aussie-style rappel rig, allowing her to descend headfirst. When she reached the top floor window, she removed a small, black kit of tools from the black belt she wore around her waist. The strap was now, however, riding on her large breasts due to her upside down position. From the pouch, she retrieved a suction cup and a glasscutter.

After securing the window with the device, just above its lock, the Black Cat used the cutter to slice a circle into the pane. Carefully, she examined the window and the ledge around it, both inside and out, for any type of alarm wires or traps. Felicia sighed in frustration when she found none; she was looking for a challenge. The small threshold provided access to the top floor janitor's closet.

Felicia's lips curled into a devilish smile and she tossed the piece of cut glass down into the alley below. She knew in her heart that the glass would neither shatter nor make any noise, for that was her gift. An uncanny halo of luck which had always shone throughout her life; little 'bad luck tricks' that made numbers fall her way. She blew the glass a kiss and watched it fall on some discarded clothing, in the dumpster below; unharmed and perfectly quiet.

The young woman reached in and unlocked the window. Raising the pane up, she freed herself from the harness around her body. After securing the harness to the building with a strand of electrical tape, she hopped through the open entrance. With that same devilish smile, she exited the janitor's closet to begin her conquest of the building and all items she was assigned to retrieve.

The Black Cat crept through the deserted hallways of the top floor; dark and silent. Clothes, bolts of cloth, hangers and mobile racks littered the hallways and the rooms she had passed. Felicia peeked around a corner and into what appeared to be some sort of sewing room. Mannequins and dress cages stood about the room, waiting for their tailors to return.

Bolts of cloth were stacked on tables and chairs; boxes of what appeared to be sewing kits lay about as well. The vixen crept towards a large room to the front of the building. Her contractor had explained that to keep a low profile, the owner had set up a low-key holding area for the sensitive material. There was to be next to no security, but the safe was going to be one of the best portable ones on the market.

Now that the Black Cat was in the heart of the holding area, the safe would be a welcome challenge, a test for New York's greatest burglar. Felicia prowled into the room; it was a large space with a huge, multi-paned window facing the street. Moonlight poured through, making hundreds of shadow crosses on the hardwood floor. The room was empty except for a waist-high box, covered with some sort of black cloth.

Infrared lenses from her utility belt revealed several alarm-triggering laser beams; fortunately, the concealed rays were high enough off of the floor that the svelte thief could creep under. When she reached the safe, another tech gizmo assured the area around the safe was devoid of additional booby traps, same as the cloth covering the safe. Removing the fabric, the Black Cat sat cross-legged before the safe to begin cracking.

Unexpectedly, the first touch of her fingers to the metal somehow triggered an alternate security protocol; Felicia was engulfed in a grayish cloud of thick gas. She closed her eyes and began coughing, feeling dizzy. The hot burglar staggered to her feet in an attempt to get away from the sinister strongbox, but, in doing so, inevitably tripped the lasers. Although the countermeasures were not connected to alarms, she noticed the toxic cloud increasing its density.

Felicia held her breath and, with squinting eyes, tried to make it to the hallway; the substance was so thick it prevented her from seeing more than a few feet ahead. She could only discern her hands before her as she groped to find the exit. Her chest pounded for air, her muscles lurched. In her desperation, she stumbled and fell to the floor, feeling a sour taste in her mouth.

Jolted by the fall, Felicia gasped involuntarily for breath, taking in lungfuls of the gas-tainted air; her head began to swim. She kept on panting and her body shuddered, severely impairing her motor skills. Rolling onto her back, she tried to catch a glimpse of the skylight. Maybe she could make it fall victim to her 'bad luck tricks', her ability to play with the odds.

If the sky dome or even the windows would crack and shatter, the room would be vented clear of the nerve agent. The ceiling, however, was lost to her as her vision was limited to the length of her arm, only. Felicia panted and gasped on the cold wooden floor, her chest heaved and her breasts sloshed with the quivering of her body. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy and her body giving in to the power of the narcotic. Finally, with a whimper, the Black Cat slipped into unconsciousness.

***

Felicia began to stir, unable to determine how much time she had been out cold. Through the clearing fuzz in her head, she heard the sounds of grunting, and panting. She tried to open her eyes, but she found herself blindfolded; worse, her wrists were tied together behind her back and she was securely bound to a metal chair.

"About time you came to," the Cat heard a low-toned male voice. "For someone with such great fame, you sure are sloppy."

"Who are you?" She wasted no time. "What do you want?"

"I believe you are in no position to be asking questions." The unknown man replied.

"I know people!" Felicia bravely stated. "I can have you killed in a heartbeat!" Unfortunately, she realized threats alone wouldn't get her out of her current situation; she felt a hard, cold metal being pressed against her left temple.

"I'd love to sit here and play with you all night long, but I don't have time for games," he revealed. "I have a work for you, and I strongly advise you to take it."

"You don't get to tell me what to do, weirdo!" The Black Cat yelled; her act of defiance was followed by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

"I'm giving you one last chance: in or out," she was given an ultimatum. "What is it going to be?"

Felicia was surprised; during her life of criminal acts, she had to deal with all sorts of scum. Usually, the low-lives were all talk, which posed little difficulty for her. This guy, however, was dead serious; emphasis on the 'dead' part.

"I am listening," Felicia decided not to call his bluff.

"Do you know a man named Nick Katzenburg?" The mysterious man cut to the chase.

"The fat photographer working for the Daily Bugle?" The Cat couldn't possibly fathom why go through all the trouble to recruit her over some lousy fucker.

"That would be him." He started explaining. "Here is what I want you to do..."

***

Mary Jane was choking on the superhero's thick cock; 'Superhero' was a slight exaggeration; much closer to a thing, a beast if you will, hair everywhere! He was stuffing that thick veiny cock down her throat with insistent pressure. His large meaty hands held her skull in a vice like grip preventing her from moving, from retreating.

His eyes danced wildly under his mask, and he frowned as if to concentrate on the task that lay before him. He gripped the base of his hard thick shaft and rammed it harder into the supermodel's mouth. He wanted to be patient; to make it last, but something inside him overrode that desire. Scientists call it Primal Lust, an overused statement often describing civilized humans engaging in spontaneous sex. The man stuffing his cock down the vixen's throat was far from civilized.

Spider-man glared at the redhead beauty on her knees before him. His brow furrowed even deeper as he removed his large hand from the base of his cock and forced more of the thing down Mary Jane's throat until he saw the tears streaming from her eyes and heard her moans. The supermodel was choking on the throbbing, penetrating cock; he was stuffing it down her throat non-stop, suffocating her with the force of his entry.

Mary Jane's palms rested on his thighs, her fingers digging into his flesh. The heavy hands holding her head pulled her forward into his hairy crotch. She felt her stretched lips come into contact with his groin, fat balls pulsating madly beneath her chin. She tried desperately to breathe through her nose as the superhero began grinding his pelvis against her face, already buried to the root, his fat hairy balls rested beneath her chin cloaking her neck.

Spider-man groaned loudly as the colorful supermodel gagged around the appendage that filled her mouth and throat. He felt her push against him, trying to pry at least an inch or two of the throat stuffing cock out of her mouth. Spidey wasn't about to let her go anywhere, though. His large right hand held the back of her skull tightly while the other braced itself on her shoulder, gripping her so tight she could feel his hard fingernails digging into her flesh.

The superhero pulled his log of a cock out of the redhead's open drooling mouth in a slow manner that stretched Mary Jane's lips outward as he did so. He stared down at his own wet cock glistening with the saliva of her gasping mouth. She breathed in deeply before he pushed half of his cock into her mouth with one plunge.

Her eyes grew large as she stared up at his strong torso; she imagined his eyes narrowing in a crazed lust gaze under his mask and his teeth gridding upon themselves in a hungry grin. MJ didn't stare at him long before the rest of his cock plunged violently against her face, burying itself to the root, and stuffing her throat with its heaviness. The pupils of her eyes rolled upwards disappearing into the back of her skull.

In a move that took her completely off guard, he withdrew his cock from her tortured mouth before ramming it back again, seemingly deeper than before. Mary Jane couldn't believe this was happening; he was fucking her face in a manner she deemed impossible, how long could she take the furious pounding?

Her pert nose was scrunched up and pressed back against her face with each short brutal plunge, and her knees were pressed tightly together, as she kneeled in front of him. Her back arched almost seductively, the pressure from his foot upon her shoulder, his weight forcing her down. Spidey was pounding her face furiously and she did nothing to stop him; her hands were leveled tightly upon either side of his hips trying to measure his thrusts, time her breathing. His grunts were loud, primitive. She would not be surprised if he began beating his chest like an old King Kong movie.

Mary Jane's face was forced upward as the superhero began a skull-fuck she would remember for the rest of her life; his ass rose and fell with deep throat filling plunges. Suddenly, his sturdy legs were over her shoulders, her face between two large hairy thighs, and her nose pressed against the strong odor of his hairy groin. His balls smeared against her neck, and she felt it pulsing.

He was cumming, and cumming hard; MJ squirmed her ass into the heels of her boots, her neck strained upward. She had no choice but to swallow everything the he had to offer as it went straight into her belly. Slowly, Spider-man removed his legs from her slim shoulders; he held his fat cock by the base and slowly withdrew it from her mouth her lips stretching outward along its girth as he did so.

The Superhero leaned back for more room, and reached up, removing his mask; Mary Jane's eyes opened wide, shocked, when she realized the man wearing the suit wasn't her husband Peter at all! She was even more astonished by his true identity! The man used her luscious red hair to clean his softening cock and winked at her; he seemed to enjoy her flabbergasted state.

"What's the matter, Red?" She immediately recognized the impostor, as he mocked her. "Thought you'd love some superhero action..."

***

Mary Jane awoke; a throbbing pain threatened to split open her skull. She blinked her blurry eyes, and felt coldness, a chill like no other, creeping through her skin, muscles and bones. The harsh feeling of returning to reality slowly faded. The alarm clock by the bed read 3:11AM; she was still at the cabin, and her husband was woken by her sudden commotion.

"Are you alright, MJ?" Peter hugged his wife, comforting her. "What happened?"

"Just a bad dream, Tiger." The redhead squeezed her eyes shut as her head spun out of control. After a while, the horrible sensations eased, the knot in her stomach very gradually undid itself, and she sat back onto the bed.

As Mary Jane straightened herself, her long, red hair drooped downward in front of her; she was still catching her breath, trying to ascertain her worst possible nightmare and how it came to pass. One name echoed in her mind: fucking Katzenberg!

"Just a bad dream, Tiger..." She repeated, attempting to convince herself. "Just a bad dream..."

*** Later that evening ***

"Jeez, will you stop worrying already, Robbie?" John Jameson tried to calm his editor-in-chief. "It's not like we're under 24 hour surveillance!" He continued, exasperation evident in his voice.

"I've known you for a long time, John." Joe Robertson insisted. "Long enough to notice when there is something going on."

"Nonsense!" Jameson assured him. "Now, shall we return to the party? I definitely could use a drink!"

"What about these?" Robbie presented him an envelope with the evidence he got from Katzenburg.

"I know about the pictures," Jameson didn't even bother to look. "It is not what you are thinking."

"And what am I thinking, John?" Robbie finally asked.

"Alright, Robbie, you win." Jameson finally gave in. "I will tell you what is on my mind, but not tonight. I have other things to attend first; we talk about this matter later."

"Okay, John." Robertson agreed. "Don't think you will slip away so easily, though."

"I am sure you won't let me." The publisher lighted another cigar. "Here is the deal..."

Having finished checking up and down the corridor for the umpteenth time, Nick Katzenburg gently pressed his ear against the door and stood listening the men's conversation, outside the room, trying to learn anything he could. The photographer knew there was something large behind those photos, and he intended to follow the story, even if he had to use immoral means to do so, not that he really cared.

***

"Is she going on a trip?" asked Naomi, a wife of one of the employees, to Mary Jane; the woman had already badmouthed half of the Bugle's staff, and didn't appear to be stopping anytime soon. "Because she's got some pretty big bags under her eyes! Maybe Calvin will use her for his next advertising campaign!"

The supermodel cackled with false laughter before Naomi excused herself to go and literally powder her nose. MJ was utterly relieved when she left; she couldn't stand talking to the mean bitch a minute longer. All thoughts of aversion disappeared as she spotted a familiar face.

"Flash?" She whispered and moved closer; to MJ's amazement, it was actually Flash Thompson; they went to High School together, even dated for a while. He used to be Peter's declared enemy, until they worked out their differences and actually became friends.

Turning, the former football star's eyes widened as he spotted her, then a wide grin crossed his face and he moved towards her, throwing his arms wide and scooping her up in a fierce hug, doing terrible damage to her expensive dress, although she was too surprised to really notice at the time.

"God, it's been ages!" MJ was excited. "What are you doing here?"

"Indeed..." Flash tried remembering the last time they met. "Geez, Mary Jane... What has it been? Two years?"

"At least," she replied, still a bit dazed at finding Flash Thompson at a Daily Bugle annual employee-only event. Seeing him all decked out in a tuxedo had brought memories of the prom flooding back to her, and she was having trouble getting her head straight, "It's good to see you Flash, how are things going for you?"

"Great, MJ... Great," he laughed, "I'm Head Coach at our old High School, but that's not important, I'm doing a lot of work for the Community now, cleaning up the old neighborhood, organizing sports to get kids out of gangs, really giving something back!"

"T-That's... That's great, Flash," she replied, looking around for Peter. It looked like Flash had become the Community equivalent of a recovered addicted, and she knew that any moment now he'd likely start telling her how someone with her fame could do a lot of good work.....

"You know, MJ," he said, his wide grin dropping for a second before returning in full force, "With your fame...."

"Flash Thompson, you dirty son of a bitch!" Laughed a new voice, and Peter slid up beside Flash, draping an arm around his shoulder and hugging him close. "How the hell did you get past the door?"

"P-Pete?" asked Flash, surprised to see him, as well. "So, you and MJ are still together?"

"Course we are, Flash," chuckled Peter. "If you excuse me, honey, Flash and I got some catching up to do..."

"Be my guest, Tiger," she smiled. "I will join you boys later..."

Turning Flash away from his wife and walking him away, Peter moved towards the bar. "We just keep it quiet so those paparazzi bastards won't bother us; Mary Jane was really cut up after last time..."

"To put it mildly," MJ thought to herself, remembering that dark day over two years ago when she'd taken her last steps onto Empire State University and the horror of a day that had followed. Things were far better now, she lived the jet set life of a supermodel, traveling around the world to exotic locations, getting paid millions to stand still while photos were taken of her, appearing on chat-shows, attending premieres and hanging out with the beautiful people.

Life was good; except maybe for a few bumps on the road like the recent invasion of her privacy, illegal shots of her having unprotected sex with an unknown male, something she didn't even remember happening, by the way, and blackmail. Adding insult to injury, she had no choice other than performing oral sex on a man she loathed, in order to prevent the piece of information from becoming international news. Didn't help the fact that he had a massive penis, either, and that she had dreamed about him ravishing her over and over.

"The notorious Mary Jane Watson," chuckled a voice, and MJ was snapped out of her self-inflicted torture, turning to find herself facing a strikingly beautiful woman, with glorious long white hair and what was obviously a magnificently conditioned body beneath her figure hugging black dress.

"Oh, it's you Felicia..." Mary Jane pouted. "First Flash, now you. Feels like a trip down memory lane; unfortunately, not all of those remembrances are pleasant."