When Spidey Met Oracle

Once Carlie walked out that door, though, things were more or less set in motion. Harry came back to the club on Friday and Lily danced with him 'til the place shutdown. He took her to dinner the next night and a month later, he was introducing her as his girlfriend to all his old friends at a surprise welcome back party that was quietly doubling as Mary Jane's bon yoyage since she was headed back to L.A.

It happened so fast Harry didn't really have the time to consider that if things had gone as he planned, he might be with Carlie now. But he'd banished the thought from his mind completely when he first saw her and Peter together.

Because, again, when he and Pete came to the end, it was going to be over a girl. And considering Harry had just gotten him back, he wasn't looking to break things just yet. Besides, back then Harry was pretty sure he was falling in love with Lily.

Even after the "American Son" fiasco, when Harry started drinking again and Carlie showed up to help him clean himself up, he was still determined to see her as a friend. Maybe even moreso. Because Carlie had become a stabilizing force in Harry's life and in his long, constant quest for sobriety, he had learned not to fuck with his support structure. He meant that literally. Sex was rarely the solution to any of his problems. Honestly it only seemed to complicate things.

Keeping Carlie Cooper in a box carefully marked "DO NOT INSERT PENIS HERE" had proven fairly easy considering her living arrangements and workplace conditions. When Carlie wasn't happily ensconced in crime scene tape, she was at the apartment she once shared with Lily or over at Bill Hollister's place, where Harry was quite sure he was persona non grata.

And yet, here he was, under the one roof he once swore he'd never step under again, his body pressed against one of the two girls he decided were absolutely off limits. He hadn't given any of this a second thought when he came over for baby lessons. The fact that there'd been a time he spent three or four nights a week there had barely registered when he walked in the door. The mere sight of Lily's bedroom door had once been enough to get him stirring, but now it was just a piece of wood closing off a dusty room everyone wanted to forget about.

Maybe this second fatherhood was really going to change him the way Harry now realized his first probably should have.

Carlie shifted within his embrace then, giving him a faceful of her hair to contemplate. She had recently undergone a radical haircut, transforming her previously shapeless and unkempt tresses into a cute little bob. A cute, fragrant little bob, it now proved, as Harry took in the enticing toasted coconut scent of her hair.

Harry was just about to crack a joke in a desperate bid to ease the rising tension, but before he could open his mouth, she met it with hers. Carlie's tongue swept his as Harry tried to figure out how he'd fucked all this up. He must have said or done something to encourage this without realizing it. Sure, his fingers had briefly lingered on the hooks of her bra, but that was just reflex. Muscle memory. He was trained for that kind of thing. He certainly hadn't meant anything by it. But still, this had to be all his fault, because it felt so damn good. Clearly he'd wanted this all along. All these years and still following the same stupid, self-destructive impulses.

Carlie really did have an amazing body. How had he never noticed before? He didn't realize just how hard he was until she started rubbing his cock.

Harry, spurred by his shock, reluctantly forced himself to push her away. "Whoa," he blurtled. "Wuh-what about Peter?" Harry wasn't sure if the fact that Pete was the first thought in his head in the face of some strange was off or not, and honestly, he didn't care. He was just glad he was holding himself back for once in his adult life.

"Peter's not here," Carlie told him, "because he doesn't want me." He watched her back her way toward her bedroom while pulling that frumpy NYPD sweatshirt up over her head. "Do you want me, Harry?"

He wracked his brain for some reason to talk himself out of this as she disappeared through the door. He was still wracking his brain as he started to follow.

"You don't have to be a nice guy tonight, Harry," Carlie said when he stopped at her doorway. She'd already stripped down to her panties. "I wanna be a bad girl."

"I can't stay here and be with you Carlie," he told her, crossing the threshold. "I'm leaving with Stan and I don't know if we can ever come back..."

"Are you leaving right now?" Carlie asked. The whole time he'd been telling her this, she'd been sliding her last shred of clothing down her legs, and Harry really started to wonder why he was trying so hard to talk her out of this. Was the stodgy Parker morality finally starting to rub off on him?

Oh hell no, Harry thought, giving in and undressing.

He might have made a recent pledge to emulate Pete's sense of responsibility, but there was no fucking way Harry was going to go Full Parker. Peter was a great guy. The greatest. But he never had any fun. Right before his aunt got married, May's new husband had tracked down her family, introducing Pete to his three smoking hot second cousins from Boston, Alexa, Amanda and Amy. Harry had encouraged him to make something happen with any of them, explaining that they weren't blood-related in the least, but the stupid genius refused. Which is why Harry didn't feel too bad about starting things up with cousin Amy shortly thereafter, but damn...

At the same time, Harry wondered why he bothered. It's not like Peter really needed his help. That cursed "Parker luck" never seemed to extend to the ladies. Hell, it was half the reason Harry became friends with the guy back in college. There always seemed to be this flock of beautiful women hovering in Peter's orbit. The tragedy was that the idiot never seemed to realize it. Harry was convinced that Pete had some secret fuck buddy somewhere. Otherwise, the guy had become some sexless monk...

Maybe all those years with Mary Jane was all the sex Peter would ever need for the rest of his life. Harry had only been with her a short time before things went south, but he could almost believe it. At the same time, it'd been so long since those two broke up. And Carlie had been throwing herself at Pete since they met -- as much as she could throw herself at anyone, Harry had once thought. And as he watched Carlie back herself toward her bed, he realized, once again, that Peter Parker was the dumbest man he knew. It seemed a ridiculous thought, because Pete was the only reason Harry had his bachelor's degree. Business calculus would have ruined him without his former live-in tutor, and the entire time, Pete kept muttering about how much easier Harry's class was than his own advanced calc class, but whatever. If Parker could pass up on Cooper, he didn't have the brain power to toast bread...

Carlie just barely turned around before she fell down on the mattress. Harry thought she'd tripped at first, but after she flopped onto the bed, she lifted her bottom and wiggled it at him and Harry thought he understood her intention.

"Tell me what you want," he said, stepping up to her round, upturned rump to rub just the tip of his dick along her steamy wet slit. She just whimpered in response with a shudder. "Say it, Carlie..."

"Spank me," she murmured -- so quietly he wondered if he'd imagined her words. Had he heard that right?

"What?" he asked, so taken aback he was no longer stroking her nether lips with his dick, just at the edge of her cunt. He had expected her to say something like "Put it in" or "Pound me"... Maybe she'd go so far as to use the dreaded f-word... but this? This was a surprise...

"Oh -- ah -- spuh-spank me," she whimpered again, pushing back slightly so the tip of his cock slipped into her. Damn, she was tight. Didn't this girl ever get out? "Spank my ass, Harry!" she begged, louder now, her face and neck flushing red with embarrassment. "I'm not a bad girl but I could be..." He couldn't believe she had just said that. What was wrong with her?

It's always the quiet ones, Harry thought to himself with a rueful smile. He realized that he was just standing there, musing to himself when her head started to turn so she could look back at him. If Carlie saw the smirk on his face, she'd probably stop this right then and there. Hell, she'd probably slap him. He couldn't have that so he did the first thing that came to mind, swatting the right side of her ass with a quick, stinging smack.

"Ow! FUCK!" Carlie howled, and Harry stopped smiling. He'd definitely hit her harder than he regularly would have -- especially for such an obvious first-timer -- but he'd panicked. He worried he'd really hurt her when she moaned. "Duh-do it again," she whispered. This time, he gave her more of a love tap, but she just shook her head, whining "Ah, do it right. I can take it..." He smacked her again, just as hard as the first time and her pussy clamped down on his cockhead.

"Cuh-Caaaaarlie," he roared, as her head fell forward, muffling a long high sigh in the sheets of her bed as she thrust her ass back. Her tight little cunt loosened only slightly as it enveloped the rest of his manhood with her velvety wetness. She didn't have to ask. He slapped her left cheek this time, rewarded again by a sharp, squeezing pulse in her pussy as he pulled back.

"Mphml... mfff... mulff," she moaned into the bed with his next few thrusts, balling the sheets in her fists as he plowed her depths. He started kneading her raw, red rump, fucking her faster. There was something so wonderfully wrong about taking her... This girl that should have been Peter's... The best friend of the woman who'd broken Harry's heart...

Harry didn't spank her again until her groans grew too silent, smothered in her bed. He slapped her again, grabbing a fistful of her hair to tug her head back. He wanted to hear Carlie scream.

"Hah! Hah! Haaaaarrryyyy!!!" she called out as she came. Harry wondered if she could even still feel him pounding into her. Sliding harder and faster. She'd cum so much that it was easier now.

Carlie was well on her way to a second climax when they heard the broken cry from the living room.

"H-Harry..." she whined as he fucked her rough. "We... we woke up the baby."

He smacked her with more force than he ever had then. "I don't care," he growled into her ear, slapping her ass again. "I haven't cum yet..."

*

"Congratulations, tiger..." she started to say after Jimmy had finally answered enough of her questions. She was babbling something about him winning the lottery or something as she led him toward the bathroom, but he wasn't really listening anymore. He was just watching that ass.

God, he'd waiting long enough, hadn't he?

At some point, Jimmy had realized that the only thing stopping him from mounting Mary Jane Watson right there on the table was Jimmy himself. She was just as horny as he was. Hell, as horny as everyone everywhere it now seemed, but some part of this game she was playing was getting her off, and he liked that. He'd followed her little cues because he wanted to. He didn't want to just take her. Jimmy wanted to win her. By her own rules.

But once that happened. Once she was done and he won, he didn't want to play around anymore.

Something crazy was driving him. Jimmy realized that, but he didn't care. All he cared about was fucking MJ just then. He could sort it out later. And once she'd plopped herself on the edge of that sink, he was pretty much on autopilot...

Anything for that pussy... Anything for Mary Jane... and God... those tits of hers...

It was a bit of a struggle to work that tight skirt up her long legs to her sexy hips, but a struggle well worth it. He could smell her arousal seeping through her soaked silk panties as she pulled his pants down.

"Do -- oh! aaahh!! -- do you think I'm -- hah! hah! hah! -- pretty, Jimmy?" she asked him again as he rubbed her pussy.

"Oh god yes," he hissed. "You're gorgeous."

"And you're -- oof! -- thinking ab-about meee?" she whimpered, unleashing his dick from his boxers. "Not her, just me?"

"No one else," he said. "Only you."

He held out as long as he could, kissing down her swan-like neck, stopping briefly to the explore the length of her collar-bone as he slowly made his way toward that long yearned for space between her impossible breasts. That entire time he'd been fondling them, but as good as they felt under her clothes, Jimmy just couldn't wait for her to pull off her shirt and sweater vest. He knew it was a cashmere and pricey and rare, but there he was tugging it and the shirt and her bra aside so he could suck on one of those wonders, and the second his lips touched her he realized that Steve Lombard was a fucking idiot. Well, not really realized as much as remembered... but now Jimmy knew he could be just as stupid. One mouthful and he knew they were real... spectacular... the whole shebang... Mary Jane's arms wrapped around his head, directing his progress as he worshipped her teat.

"They're fake," she eventually told him, reluctantly pushing Jimmy back from her then to yank her collective tops up over her head. Her action had shifted the bra back in place, once more covering her up.

"I don't care," he said, squeezing her lace-clad breasts. "They're perfect..."

"Not my boobs, silly," she smirked tugging the straps down her shoulders. "The photos..."

"What?" he asked, mesmerized while she reached back to undo the clasp.

"If you print a word of this, I'll sue, or maybe worse..." She was started to pull the cups down now. "I'll stop."

What was this? A lie? A new part of the game? Oscars. This woman deserved Oscars.

What did it matter? "This is all off the record," he promised. And it certainly was. Because whatever this was and what other truths might be out there, there was one more pressing on Jimmy's mind. He had to put his dick in this goddess.

"That girl in those pictures isn't me," Mary Jane whispered. And then the bra was gone and he saw them. Jimmy had looked at those nude pics. A lot. When Chloe found them in what he thought was a well-hidden file on his hard drive, it had been a long, awkward conversation. The point being that those photos were more or less seared into his memory and that girl in the pictures certainly had the size and maybe even the shape of Mary Jane Watson's breasts, but the nipples were different. He hadn't noticed before because his lips were on them, but that girl in the photos had these small, pink nipples... even when they were stiff. But Mary Jane's were big and darker, a silver dollar-sized patch of puckering skin around those thick, deep red points. Jimmy couldn't really speak to a difference in the taste, but MJ's were deliciously chewy.

Her legs were around him before he realized she'd drawn him toward her. He was finally inside her shortly thereafter. She was still wet from before so he slid into her with ease, right up to the hilt.

"Fuuuuck," she groaned as he pushed in. A complaint? A compliment? A command? Jimmy assumed all three and answered with another hard thrust. It briefly occurred to him that he was still clothed above his waist as they fucked and he reached up to undo his shirt.

"No no no," she murmured, her fingers stopping his. "Luh-leave it on. Bowties are cool."

Damn right they were.

*

Sometimes she sucked just hard enough for her cheeks to cave into her mouth, touching his cock and it swelled out to meet the inner parts of her maw, meeting her heat with his.

Barbara would look up at him in those moments, but Peter's eyes were usually closed as he reveled in the sensation, but there was that one time that they weren't and he looked down at her with that indescribable look. Like he was trying to process too much at once. There was a definite pleasure in that look, so Barbara knew she wasn't doing this wrong. But she read confusion, too, and maybe guilt... But most of all bliss. Peter was absolutely loving this, and really, why shouldn't he? Then his eyes closed again and he wasn't with her anymore. Not really. He was off in that happy place men go to in moments like this. Barbara remembered admonishing him about doing that the night before, needing him to truly be enthralled with her as they made love, but she hadn't this time...

A boy's first blowjob should be a special thing, right?

Did he finish in your mouth?

Barbara wondered why she'd asked herself that for what felt like a minute before she realized the question hadn't been her own. She'd been working Peter's twitching cock back and forth in her mouth with the White Queen beneath her, tonguing her pussy, for quite some time when the thought suddenly popped up in her mind. Barbara had almost forgotten Frost was still down there. Well, she hadn't really forgotten as much as she'd been desperately trying to ignore the woman's delicate work on her sex.

Did he finish in your mouth? Emma telepathically asked her again. Did he shoot his creamy cum on your anxious, aching little tongue? Did he taste good? Did you swallow or let it dribble out onto your bubbies? Some boys adore that kind of thing...

I-I don't understand, Barbara told her, taking her lips off Peter's dick because this was when she'd started her long deliberation of his balls, tonguing them before sucking one into her mouth outright. And she really didn't understand. Frost hadn't made so much as a peep since the psychic started eating her out in earnest, so Barbara was surprised by this sudden inquisition as to her preferred method of closing out a big, sloppy blowjob...

Sloppy, huh? Emma asked, picking up a stray bit of insight from Barbara's confusion. So did he finish on your face? Did you stop sucking long enough to jerk his big rod so he could blow that gooey load all over your pretty little nose? Did he plaster your cheeks with his spunk? Did it get in all that red hair?

What does that matter? Barbara wondered, now drawing the other testicle between her lips. And again, it was so weird being interrogated by the same person who had their tongue shoved up your twat, curving the tip to caress your G-spot. Oh god, Emma was good...

Thanks for the compliment, sweetie, Emma thought. It's nice to be appreciated, but you haven't answered the question...

W-Why do you want to know? Barbara could feel a flush rising inside her but fought it back down.

I don't want to know, darling, Frost corrected. I need to. To help you recreate the memory so we can reach him. I need you to remember all the naughty little things you let Spider-Man do to you before things get out of my control...

Barbara groaned in frustration around one of Peter's nuts. She still didn't understand.

Whatever's taken over his mind's getting stronger, the White Queen explained. I'm trying to filter it out as best as I can but I... I kind of like it...

Frost, it's the machine, Barbara realized, taking his shaft with her mouth again. Fight it. I need you here...

What machine? Emma wondered. Had Barbara black-boxed all the relevant specifics, too?

And then, Peter's dick pushed right to the back of her throat.

It wasn't like this, Barbara insisted internally, almost gagging. Up until then, things had gone just as she recalled it, and then he was suddenly fucking her face.