Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 07

"Oh fuck!" Felicia gasped. "You're as good at eating pussy as your daughter! Now I know where you bitches get it from. Must be fucking genetic." She rode Sasha's tongue like a horse. "Oh, you whores are wasted on weirdo fucking Russians with dumb-ass goatees! I'm so glad you're on our side now. Licking our beautiful cunts like you were born to. I can't wait until Ana gets here. MJ can sit on her face while I ride yours. And Peter, Peter can fuck both of you-!"

The thought crescendoed in a scream, Felicia's voluptuous body rocking with a series of firecracker climaxes, wetly exploding on Sasha's lips. Sasha whimpered, feeling the death of the Kravinoff line, the death of the woman who'd been Sergei Kravinoff's great love. She was now a groveling whore, a creature of sex and pain. Her beaten body was torn open by a painful orgasm, Sasha realizing just how completely she'd been debauched.

Felicia was coming in her mouth, Sasha's mind shattering with the thought that it was the Spider's whore, not even his wife, but his bitch that was doing this to her, washing away her old life in streams of liquid pleasure.

Felicia caught her breath as Sasha gulped her cum, as quickly as possible, drinking down every drop forced into her mouth. "Now we'll find you some new clothes. Some nice lingerie that old ladies like you need to keep Peter interested. I'll see if I can find one with a lion's face on the front, for old time's sake."

***

A few days and Peter was finally letting her patrol with him. Ana enjoyed it. Like being on a hunt with her mother, she was able to rejoice in the ecstasy of sharing something so intimate with someone so special. She intended to bring him a great trophy...

She kept up with him through ease as he put her through her paces, leading her to Park Avenue and an apartment building with a smattering of police vehicles and news crews collected in front of it. They slipped in through an open window as quickly as a dart.

"Just heard about it on the police scanner," Peter said. "Guys came in disguised as TV repairmen, kidnapped the daughter of the guy who invented the new Sprite flavor."

Ana looked around the room dismally—empty except for police tape fluttering in the AC, waiting for another going over from CSI—and replied "So let police handle it. They can afford to pay ransom. Let's go handle bank robbery in Spanish Harlem instead..."

"Hornhead can handle that," Peter replied. "And I don't care if they can pay the ransom, I don't want a little girl to be scared and alone any longer than she has to be!"

Ana grimaced, snarling at herself for displeasing him. Of course. New York was his territory. King of the jungle. He couldn't just allow interlopers... "Does anyone in the family smoke?"

Peter gave his surroundings another look, though he'd already scanned them. "No cigarette packs, no ashtrays..."

"I smell tobacco. Recent, but not old. Only in top layer."

Suddenly Ana was looping out off the fire escape, down to the ground, Peter following her. Seeing the two of them, the news people came in with microphones and cameras like an angry mob would wield torches and pitchforks. Peter ignored the shouted questions. He wasn't worried about Ana's secret identity. She wore one of Felicia's domino masks and safari wear like her father's.

"What?"

Ana was picking at the gutter. "Cigarette butts. Same brand. Washed away by rain yesterday, but old smell, lingering smell."

"A stake-out?"

Ana patted the pavement. "Car parked here, person waited, smoked cigarettes. Smell still on him when he go inside."

"That does help us." Peter wrapped an arm around Ana and jumped, carrying her up to a building top. Ana brushed her lips around his chest. Soon.

He called Felicia, asking her to hack into the city's CCTV cameras. The police had checked them at the time of the abduction, but Peter'd already heard they'd used a stolen car, ditched it in a shadow zone. His hunch was right. Felicia found a car that'd been parked in the same spot three times in the last week, an ex-con dumping his Turkish Blends out his open window. The car was registered to him. It came with an address in the Bronx.

***

Two in the living room, one in the bedroom, probably not much room in the bathroom. Unless they had reinforcements in the neighboring apartment, Peter didn't see any problems with letting Ana help. He went into the living room, webbed up the guns before they could unwisely void their deposit, let them tucker themselves out with some blocks and parries, then shoved them back and webbed them up the rest of the way.

Ana had gone into the bedroom. She came out with the girl in her arms. "She's fine. They had her in bathtub."

"And the third man?"

"Less fine. But finer than he could be."

Peter nodded to her. "Good work." He held out his arms and Ana set the little girl down. She ran to him. A big fan.

***

It was a busy day. They also foiled some muggings, put out a car fire, webbed up a van of Hammerhead's goons with their drugs still in their briefcases. And Peter took Ana to the Daily Bugle, gave her the tour, introduced her to a few people, and put in a good word for her with Robbie about their intern program. He'd promised a callback once her application was processed.

Felicia had a bottle of 130-year-old brandy waiting for them to celebrate their victory, which she promised was not stolen, or at least wouldn't count as stolen when she returned it. Peter consented to a finger, as did Felicia, though Peter only took a sip before letting Ana have his.

Felicia, as always, had plans for them. She'd been aghast to hear Ana had never seen Bridget Jones's Diary, and with Peter calling it a night, he was trapped between them on the sofa. Ana curled up against him, head in his lap, while Felicia rested comfortably under his arm, answering all the questions Ana had about just about everything.

("If she wants both Hugh Grant and Colin Firth, why does she not simply invite both in bed with her? She has a mouth, she has cunt, she has her bottom...")

Peter was more entertained by Ana's questions than the movie. When the credits rolled, he turned the TV off, obligingly picked Felicia up since she had her arms around him, and took her to her bedroom. He helped Felicia out of some of her clothes, then undressed himself, noticing Ana in the doorway finally.

"You've been sleeping with Felicia," he asked.

Ana nodded. "It's like being part of a family again."

"She wants me with her."

"I know."

Peter looked away. Even without the mask, Ana knew he was thinking keenly, the same as he had trying to figure out where the girl had gone. She stood silently, waiting for his decision.

"Do you want to stay?" he asked. "It's a big bed."

"I would."

Peter nodded. "Get the door then."

***

He slept on one side of the bed. Felicia slept under his arm. Ana slept behind Felicia. She didn't mind being the bigger spoon. She'd been that for her mother, sometimes. When Sasha missed Sergei.

Peter fell asleep quickly. Ana wondered if he'd ever been a night owl like Felicia. Like herself.

"Well-played," Felicia said, when she was sure he was asleep.

"Playing implies plan. I'm just waiting."

"Keep waiting. He's slow to trust people, trust them not to hurt him—but he's also worth it."

"Yes." Ana's eyes trailed down Peter's bare body, down to the recesses of his boxers, the imprint of his manhood. She did not know the sight of it, but now she knew its size. "Can I touch myself?"

"Yes," Felicia told her.

Ana slipped her hand down into her panties, Felicia watching in case she needed any pointers.

***

Sasha was still and dark, paralyzed, unable to force herself to breathe. She'd heard that was what it felt like to drown. Not struggling or flailing—you just went under. And she was drowning...

Ana stood in the room, watching her, not saying a word. She looked to the door, sensing Peter's arrival. Then she went to the bed, lying down beside her naked mother as Spider-Man came in the room.

The Spider approached slowly, Sasha cringing away from him, knowing his eyes were tracing all over her nudity, nakedness meant only for her husband. Ana held Sasha still.

"Look, Peter," she said. "Her breasts are so big from having me. Her pussy nice and loose for you because I came out of it."

The Spider stood over Sasha. He reached down with one gloved hand, crudely entering Ana's sex. She wailed—it already felt good.

"Seems tight enough." He tugged down his fly. "I can fix that."

Sasha's eyes grew even wider at the sight of his cock. He was bigger than Sergei had ever been!

Next to them, Ana relished the sight of her mother's forced pleasure, her suffering the wonderful cruelty of his slow and relentless invasion. Through the mask, Spider-Man's grimace was pure lust, feeling Sasha's tight muscles double down on his advancing hardness. As much as she wailed, as much as she flailed, the look on her face was one of lust; the pressure on his cock was need.

"Don't tell me you're not enjoying yourself," Spider-Man smiled down at her, making Ana laugh, and the woman twisted her head away, trying to hide in her own world of pain and humiliation.

Spider-Man flexed his throbbing cock deep inside her; she groaned, the cords of her stately neck standing out from her whole body growing tense.

"Answer me," he ordered her. "Most women would give anything for a fuck like this."

"I certainly did," Ana added as Spider-Man arched up into Sasha again.

Spider-Man jammed himself into Sasha suddenly, the woman's teeth clenching together so hard they nearly shattered as she tried to keep her moan locked inside. He scraped his gloved hand over her, roughly squeezing her breast, bringing a stiff nipple up to the light. "Yeah, you're enjoying it. So be polite and ask for more." He withdrew a few inches, Sasha shaking as he deliciously tapered out of her. "Let me hear you beg for it."

"No, never—"

Ana reached over and slapped her. "Beg! Now!"

Sasha felt her hard heart giving over to pain, panic, to the pleasure she'd denied herself so long. I can hurt him later, she thought. If I just get through this, I can resume the hunt...

She ignored the slickening squelch of his prick through her wet sex, saying "Do it, please, do it to me."

Spider-Man kept pulling his swollen cudgel from her tightly quivering pussy. It was almost out now. "Do what?"

Sasha had never felt so helpless, so vulnerable, so weak.

It turned her on so much.

"Fuck me!"

Ana gave him a nod, but Spider-Man didn't need her to sense the loss of her mother's last resistance. He brought his mask low to Sasha's face, her contorted face vast and painfully stark in the reflection of his lenses, his cock beginning a slow rocking motion back between her widespread thighs.

Sasha groaned in helpless recognition of her own pleasure. Part of her wanted to die, part of her had never felt so alive—that part made her want him to kill her all the more. In her desperation, she tried to help him, throwing her pelvis up against his stately entry into her, feeling him going deeper inside her, claiming her, screaming with every useless, powerful thrust she made against him.

As much as she tried to cling to it, the pain was leaving her, replaced with something masochistic, lewd, sensual. She was responding to his work between her open, muscular thighs, her entire body twisting and contorting beneath his thrusts, her mouth working out mewls of servile acceptance, pleasured satiation. As a light sweat coated her body, she leaned up to answer his coital thrusting with her tongue, running it over his mask.

Sasha felt, thrillingly, his hands slip over the naked curves of her hips, under her rounded buttocks, squeezing them harshly in either hand as he thrust into her with a greater frenzy. As he pulled her to his hardness, she opened her trembling thighs even further, experiencing her tormented pussy being entered fuller than ever.

Ana couldn't be left out any longer. She moved down to capture one of Sasha's bouncing breasts between her teeth, nibbling it and sucking it as she had as a child. Sasha sobbed at the new debasement, her newfound ecstasy, and Spider-Man surged with his every ounce of grunting strength, fucking Sasha with a fury he would never use on Felicia or Mary Jane. Her cries, pained but pleasurable, only made him rut into her harder as Ana sucked and twitched beside him.

The electricity of their newfound relationship, master and slave, burst through the three of them in a stroke of lightning. Ana threw her leg over one of Sasha's widespread thighs and rode it to a fast, dirty climax, her cries mingling with Sasha's as the older woman seesawed up against Spider-Man, coming just as fast.

"Time to give you a sister, Ana," Spider-Man cried, unleashing his load into Sasha's womb with wild, trembling arches that pulled his body as taut as a drawn bowstring. He buried himself to the balls in her, and she clung to him in pure, abandoned relief.

"Is it over?" Sasha asked fearfully, feeling the last jerk of Spider-Man's cock inside her. It had not noticeably diminished, but still she was afraid he would take it away.

"No." Spider-Man nodded to Ana, who reached under the bed, coming up with one of Felicia's favorite strap-ons. She pulled it on, attached it to herself with well-practiced familiarity, and moved to take Spider-Man's place as he stepped away from Sasha. "I don't know how much it'll help to push my cum halfway up your throat, but it can't hurt. Meanwhile..." He stepped behind Ana, gripping his revitalized cock to her entrance. "Let's see about giving you a granddaughter."

***

Two fingers reaming her open cunt, digging in and out like the stab of a knife, Ana finally climaxed. Peter had made her such a good girl. A superhero. She knew now what her fantasies were showing her, why they were so vivid.

For a long time, she'd known that her mother would come to reclaim her. That she would be forced to choose between the old way and the new. Now she knew; she didn't have to. Peter would change Sasha, just as he had Ana. Once Sasha saw how good it was to be Peter's broodmare, how wonderful a huntsman he was, she would join his harem willingly. Ana just had to make her see.

She couldn't wait for them to be a family again.