Meanwhile, in the Multiverse

What was it the suit had whispered the last time it'd carried her off after rehearsal? Stay away from them, Gwen... That band could tear us apart...

She wasn't sure if it'd work, but she had to try.

Gwendolyn, sweet Gwen, you know that we need each other... She started humming to herself to drown out the incessant buzz of the suit's backpedaling.

For fucksake, Gwen, NO!!! the symbiote howled, instantly recognizing the tune. God damn, that shit's too catchy! Sooooo unneeeeeerving! It's an irritating eeeeearwooooorm!!!

Takes one to know one, she thought before belting out her favorite verse:

"Fuck! Marry! Kill!
"For now, for always, such a thrill!
"Will that girl be your wife?!
"Or will she lose her life?!
"Is she a thief in the night?!
"It's all the same, boy, that's alright!"

Eighty billion light years of hive knowledge across universes, and we've never heard anything soooooo inssssssipid, the suit grumbled. Fine, no more webs.

Gwen threw out an arm and nothing came out. If the symbiote had pulled that shit just ten seconds earlier, she might have been screwed, but tucking into a rolling somersault carried her just as far as she needed to go.

God will not save you, Gwen... the costume chuckled as she landed atop St. Patrick's Cathedral. Some demons are too foul to be exorcized... Yours most of all...

There were nineteen church bells in St. Patrick's north tower. Gwen had done a report about them in the fifth grade. Back before he'd become obsessed with a certain web-slinging wonder, the things her father would go on and on about were Irish tradition and classic New York architecture...

This is a mistake, Gwen... the symbiote said. We're together now, bonded for life, forever and always... If we separate, we both could die...

"Worth it," she told the beast flatly, climbing into the tower. "You're not giving me much of a choice."

Then let's make a different choice now, here, together, it pleaded. We don't have to do this...

No. She had to see this through. She remembered what it had told her before... What it would make her do...

Oh, that crap about Daddy? the symbiote giggled. Just jokes, girl, damn! Okay, okay, we went too far with our roleplay... Look, you barely touched your plate at dinner... Let's get you a corn dog! We know how cranky you can get when you're hungry...

"Lost my appetite," she said as she walked toward one of the bells.

Baby, some crazy shit happens when we're making love because we just lose control... But we can work this out. Gwen, you don't want to destroy what we have, do you?

"That's exactly what I want to do." The Blessed Virgin wasn't the largest one at the Cathedral. The biggest one was named after St. Patrick. But the Blessed Virgin weighed over two tons and produced a clear C-note.

Can't we talk about this?

"Done talking."

None of this was ever meant to hurt you, Gwen, the suit insisted. Well, it had. But if you want to hurt us, we'll hurt you right back!!! There was this sudden lump between in her tights like she'd taken a dump, only this shit was headed completely the wrong way. It's not too late for us to turn back, Gwen, the symbiote said, nudging her o-ring. We can both go home and play... Just like after a practice... Whatever you want... There was this wet pop as it tickled her rosebud, leaving a smattering of oily grease between her butt cheeks. Either that, or the one thing you don't want... It was lubing her up as a threat, like cocking a gun.

Life as a sex puppet or anal rape from some intergalactic tentacle monster? Spider-Woman hated ultimatums on general principle, but that was maybe the worst one she'd ever heard. "We both gotta do what we both gotta do," she said eventually.

You were warned.

It wasn't a shout or lascivious whisper. The voice just went cold in a way that made her skin crawl right before that lump speared up into her anus.

"Ow! -- Ah! -- Fffffuck!" Gwen groaned, falling to her knees as her suit plowed her.

Did you really think your black cherry was safe?! the symbiote taunted as it took her. Did you think it was a bluff?

Honestly, she kind of did. Gwen had thought that maybe this horrible thing inside her was just misguided but loved her and didn't really want to do her harm, but now she knew the truth. It had just been using her. Gwen had hoped that it wouldn't come to this, but she was prepared. She knew what she had to do...

"T-Takin' that whooooole puh-pain in the -- Oh! -- Ow! -- Nng! -- in... in the ass th-thing literally, huh?" Gwen actually laughed at her own quip as she squirmed on the floor, too weak to stand as her alien invader plumbed the forbidden depths of their darkest desire. Impaled up the poop chute in a do-or-die struggle for freedom against her own inner demons and she was still cracking funnies. That's how Spider-Woman knew she was going to win...

Sometimes, the only way out was to push through. Anyone could win a fight when the odds were easy! It was when the going was tough -- when there seemed to be no chance -- that's when it counted!

Gwen tried to think about all the people in her life that depended on her. She thought about her dad and then stopped. Given the circumstances, that had been an awful idea. So she thought about the girls in the bad. Gwen didn't do friends, but frenemies were almost as good. Even Mary Jane goddamn Watson.

And that's when it clicked...

A month or so back, before the suit went crazy, The Mary Janes had been driving home from a show up at Rutgers, and Emjay had been giving Glory the only kind of advice she knew how to dispense: unasked for and graphic.

"I don't care if it's his birthday," Glory said, tapping the steering wheel as they idled in traffic on I-95. "That's strictly an exit-only situation back there."

"Oh my gaaaawd, Grant, don't be such a prude," Emjay replied in the passenger seat. "It's soooooo not a big deal. I mean, unless he's reeeeeally big. Is Randy reeeeeeeally big?"

"What's band rule number three, Mary Jane?"

"You know I'm not good at math..."

"That's not -- Never mind. Gwen, remind Miss Watson what rule number three is."

"No questions about Randy's junk," the drummer recited from the back of the van.

"Can we talk about the first two rules?" Betty asked beside Gwen. "Glory, I know you hated it the one time we watched it together, but I discover something new every time I come back to that movie..."

"We don't talk about Fight Club, Betty!" Grant insisted.

"I guess we don't get to talk about anything interesting," Emjay grumbled. "I'm just saying, anal's easier than you think, Glory. Our bodies are, like, designed for these things. We can stretch. We can flex. We can find pleasure in pain if we just open up..."

"Are you trying to be gross?!"

"No, I'm being serious," she said. "Back me up, Betty!"

"I don't really dig dicks, Mary Jane," Brant replied. "Thought it'd been mentioned." Gwen felt Betty's eyes slide her way.

"Not that!" cried the redheaded diva. "I just mean about how there's more to life than straight vanilla sex. You can spice things up, Glory! Try something new! It doesn't have to be ass-play. What about bringing someone else into the bedroom...?"

"Gwen, what's rule number four?" Glory asked.

"Keep your shirt on."

"Oh, shit, that's right." Grant was honking the horn at a yellow VW Bug that had missed that traffic had started moving. "I think I meant number six..."

That made more sense: "Don't propose threesomes with bandmates."

Emjay pouted. "I feel like a lot of these rules are just about me."

"Isn't it all always about you?" Gwen muttered. The other girls laughed and she kind of regretted the burn. Yes, Mary Jane Watson was too much most of the time, but she had a good heart... And at the next band practice, which happened to be the day after Randy Robertson's nineteenth birthday, Glory Grant had a certain pep in her wonky step..

"You think you're so funny, Stacy, but I know your secret," Gwen's greatest frenemy fumed from the passenger seat. "You put up this front like you're fearless, but you're the most frightened person I know. You don't wanna be friends because you don't wanna ever have to show up for somebody. You don't want to hear about butt stuff because you've already got this huge stick up your ass you must have been born with, because I can't imagine how it could get wedged up there otherwise!" That diatribe went on for the rest of the trip home. Say what you want about Mary Jane -- lord knows Gwen had -- but the chick could turn a phrase... "You've got to unclench. You've got to let go of all of that crap that makes you so uptight and relaaaaax. Stop seeing it all as black or white, right or wrong, good or bad... Just let it happen..."

Emjay had said something else, but Gwen couldn't remember... The thing up her ass was too much... She swore the symbiote had never felt so big before...

Do you surrender?

"Yesss..." Gwen mumbled into the dirty floor. Surrender. That was the word Watson used...

"Surrender to the sensation," Mary Jane had said in the van. "It's all a bundle of nerves, but you can decide what hurts and what doesn't..."

"Fuck you, Emjay..." Spider-Woman groaned, writhing at the foot of The Blessed Virgin and grabbing her breasts. "F-fuck you, you slut with your big perfect tits..." Gwen had seen them. She'd signed up for OnlyFans under the name Miles Morales because she was curious...

The symbiote wasn't exactly some stud reaming her from behind, so it's not like she could really push into its thrusts. All Gwen could do was let go. Spider-Woman rolled onto her back, bringing one of her hands to her sex. As the symbiote relentlessly ravished her rectum ragged, she started rubbing her clit for only the third time in her life...

She'd realized now that when she'd tried this before, she'd just gotten herself really wet and thought that was that. But after everything the symbiote had done for them -- No, done to her -- she knew there were fireworks to be found if just kept things going... But even after all this time with the costume, Gwen had still never really done this for herself. She'd let the goo do all the work. Maybe so she didn't have to acknowledge that she did like it rough. That way, she could tell herself that it was something that was happening to her. The worst you could say was that she was letting it happen, right? She hadn't been a participant! No, of course not! She was a victim...

Gwen Stacy couldn't believe she'd let a few dozen orgasms convince her that she was that weak...

What are you doing? the symbiote wondered.

"Oh... ah... Ow! -- I'm... I'm letting you have me..." she panted. "That's what -- ooooooh -- what you want, right?"

We already have you! the creature insisted. She felt the thump of the mock alien cock banging away. We're raping your ass, Gwen!!!

"N-No, it's okaaaaaay..." she purred, nodding her head as she diddled herself. "It... Oooooh... It -- Ho! -- h-hurt a little at first... b-but it's not so bad now..." There was a little "fake it till you make it" at play in her words at first, but she closed her eyes and it started to be true...

We both knew what a pervert you were, but this is a surprise... the suit voiced in victory. Give it to us, Gwen! Your last sacred space!!!

She pushed two fingers into her pussy, tapping a beat on her clit to her new favorite song... The symbiote had shown her so much, but when it was just her, it didn't hurt. It didn't have to hurt to feel good... Gwen pictured Peter Parker and his dopey smile. They'd almost kissed once, but she'd gotten scared, made a joke, and pretended she'd forgotten a dentist appointment... Gwen told herself she'd make it up to him after the dance, but the web of destiny spun and that never came to pass... She let herself imagine that things had gone differently as she pleasured herself, rubbing her wet pussy... That she'd pulled Peter close...

A tendril formed off of her shoulder and wrapped around her throat, squeezing. Ssssubmit to usss, sssslut, the symbiote purred as it choked her. Ssssubmit or sssssuffocate!!!

Gwen clutched at the vile virulent vine with both hands, abandoning her work on her pussy. She'd been so fucking close, but now she was frantic for breath and losing the thread on her pleasure. As things went hazy on the fringes of her vision, she had another desperate flash of memory as once again, Mary Jane saved the day!

Emjay's OnlyFans page wasn't all that explicit. It's not like she'd ever posted a B/G scene. There wasn't any lesbian stuff, either. It was mostly a bunch of lingerie shots with the occasional topless pic you had to pay to see. Over the last few weeks, she'd put up a few videos, but she mostly wore a sports bra in those while roleplaying dirty scenarios and giving jerkoff instructions.

The most popular video was the one where she laid on her back and masturbated. Gwen had never watched the whole thing -- it was twenty-three minutes long and cost forty bucks -- but you saw a lot in the ninety-second preview. You could only see Mary Jane from the ribs up, and she wore this tight babydoll tee with the band logo stretched over her busty chest for most of it, but stripped it off at some point so you could watch her fat titties bounce as she mewled and moaned like a bimbo. God, with those glorious utters, she might as well have mooed like a cow awaiting a bull...

The only reason Gwen even knew about Watson's stupid side hustle was that Emjay had told The Mary Janes all about it when she suggested doing a song to the audio of her cumming as an avant-garde piece of musical theater.

"What's rule number nine, Betty?" Glory asked when she pitched the idea.

"We're a band, not a sex show," Brant sighed.

The only video Gwen had seen all of had been a gift for Watson's rebill subscribers when she went from free to a five dollar monthly fee. It was one of the JOIs.

"I want you to choke me while you fuck me, Tiger," Mary Jane purred at the start, her fat nipples two lurid points on a threadbare Mary Janes hoodie she'd left unzipped while she rubbed a fake rubber dick on her face. "I can't gag on your big cock if it's stuffing my tight little pussy," she pouted, "but I want you to take my breath away..."

Emjay never filmed anything below her waist in these things, but she lowered the dildo off screen and you could hear what she was doing... Every so often, one of her boobs would pop into view as she fucked herself with it like the needy attention whore that she was...

"I wasn't going to do this, but I'm just soooooo turned on, tiger," panted the redhead. She ran a hand to her neck, flexing her fingers as she arched her back and both of her milky white funbags thrust out into view. "Ooooh, I wish you were here with your big sexy hands wrapped 'round my throat..."

If Mary Jane Goddamn Watson could get off to a bit of sexual asphyxiation, then so could Gwen, dammit!

The suit was still railing her ass, but that was the most stimulation she could get without suffocating. Her eyes watered as she tried to blink back the ever increasing dark. "Peter..." she gasped out, that was all she had left in her lungs. If she could just reach her pussy, she could get off on her own and this might be over...

Give in to us, Gwen... the symbiote insisted. Give it all to us, and we'll give you the hard cock in your cunt you so richly deserve!

That's not what she wanted. She needed to do this herself.

Then she had this flash of Miles Morales during that last desperate battle under Fisk Tower... The funny boy from long ago an untellable fathom away... She remembered the touch of his hand in hers as she tumbled toward oblivion... He'd dug deep into himself to discover abilities no one else had... So he could do what he knew had to be done... That's what Gwen needed to do. She needed to find something in herself that belonged only to her. Her own power...

The hood of her costume flipped up and closed over her head, melting onto her face as the noose around her neck slackened, blending into her throat. Gwen's skin crawled and warped as she felt her flesh and bones shift and twist. Her teeth extended into sharp, shark-like points as her whole mouth morphed into some monstrous grimace. Her tongue whipped out at an impossible length while she bayed at the night before it snapped down to her snatch.

She was appalled by the sickening sounds of her slurping and slobbering and licking herself. It was so friggin' filthy and feral! So unspeakably raw and wrong! But her nether nectar tasted like honeyed strawberries, and then that incredible taste-bud dotted cat-o'-nine-tails burrowed into her wet, wanton fuckhole. She wanted to scream as both her holes throbbed and her consciousness started to fade, but she couldn't... Her mouth was as stuffed full of her tongue as her cunt as it probed her, bumping against the tendril lancing her sphincter through a thin inner membrane, stoking an almost unbidden fire... One last flick of her clit did the trick as her crazy-town tongue ripped out of her freshly fucked sex, retracting back into her misshapen maw like a long bit of unwound measuring tape...

And then, as the agonizing ache up her ass seemed unendurable -- as her superbly muscled booty suffered the torment of a virtually indescribable ordeal -- from out of the pain, out of the agony -- she came, triumphant!

"We'll eat his braaaaaaains!!!" Gwenom roared, her heart and mind racing as green-tinted slime squirted out of her cooch. She had no idea why she'd said that. She'd just been trying to get those awful words out of her head, and they slithered out of her twisted, warped mouth...

Oh, yes, Gwendolyn YESSSSS!!! the symbiote rumbled, bound up in their shared ecstasy. It was boiling up off her skin, popping bubbles before it went limp and liquid. All that kevlar-weave lycra stiffness was gone. It was like she'd been showered in gelatinous goo she'd never get out of her hair.

"What the actual hell...?" Gwen mumbled, patting her wet, gummy face as she ran her normal-sized tongue along her once more pristine teeth with that cute little gap. Everything seemed to be back like it should be, thank God.

That was wonderful, Gwen... the suit wheezed. We were beauuuuutiful, weren't we? Resssssssplendent! Now that you know all we can do, we're gonna be so happy together...

"Y-you know what your problem is, Alfie?" she groaned as she forced herself up on wobbly legs. The symbiote was trickling off her, too spent to solidify as she shuffled in front of the church bell. "You don't like to listen!"

Noooo!!!

The quivering mass feebly rose up to reclaim her, but it was too late. Spider-Woman was punching the Blessed Virgin.

"How do you like it?!" she screamed. Gwen couldn't even hear her own voice over the ringing, but she didn't care. "How do you like feeling things you didn't ask for?!"

We haaaaaates it, Gwen! the symbiote sniveled. The costume hadn't been dancing at band practice. It'd been writhing in pain, just like it was now...

Good, she thought, hammering the bell once again. She cried out in anguish over each painful peal, but all that hurt wasn't hers. She could tell the suit was feeling it more. It couldn't bear loud noises. Pure sound was its poison.

We haaaaaates that you want to rrrrriiiiip us apaaaaaart!!!

"You did it to me first!" she spat.