Baton 3

Peter reached down to run his hands through her hair and got her majorette cap instead. He laughed at it. Then the laugh broke off into a choked groan.

Mary Jane felt the first blast of cum into the back of her throat, damn near choking her, and there was only more to get.

“God, babe, I love you,” Peter keened. “Here’s how much I love you MJ, oh, MJ…”

Mary Jane gulped. Mouthing his cock and throating his cum at the same time. Thick semen ran from her mouth, trailing down her chin. She slid off his cock and a mouthful of seed splashed across her face.

Peter was still shooting. Mary Jane jerked on his prick. She wanted even more out of him, him coming harder, faster, hotter.

“Yes, Mary Jane!” he panted. “Jerk on it! Take it on your face, that gorgeous face--”

Mary Jane knelt in front of the toilet, her hat still on, her boots splayed on the tile. She pumped all she could get out of Peter’s jerking shaft.

“That feels incredible,” Peter gasped.

Mary Jane looked up at his face. Red, contorted, but relief slowly breaking over his stricken features. She looked back down at the sperm jetting from his huge cock—washing over her…

“Oh Godddd!” Peter moaned.

Mary Jane jerked him off until she had all of it, everything she could milk from him. Peter finally slumped on the toilet, breathing hard in and out. Mary Jane happily stood to better display herself to him, her face and hair and tits ribboned with all he’d given her. Showing up white-hot on her tongue when she cheekily stuck it out.

Then she turned around, playfully showing him her ass before primly sitting in his lap. His warm prick was still stirring against the weight she rested on it.

“I don’t do nearly enough with your ass, Mary Jane,” Peter whispered. “You have such a perfect ass and I didn’t even…”

He cupped it; felt the pleasure still thrumming through Mary Jane with cannonball beats of her heart.

Mary Jane rested against his chest, the back of her head lying on his shoulder. She cleaned her white-glossed lips of all the cum that slicked them, before sticking her tongue out to lick some white from her nose and chin. Her majorette hat was like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, in danger of falling off at any moment.

“You can have it,” MJ promised him, “just as soon as you get home.”

Peter could only whine inwardly. “Honey… the papers… the Avengers…”

“You’re a genius,” Mary Jane reminded him breezily, stepping out of the stall to retrieve her discarded clothing. “You’ll figure something out.”

Peter groaned, seeing her bend at the waist again to wash her face in one of the sinks. She shifted her weight, jiggling her taut buttocks like the deck of a ship at sea—even a little motion made the ample flesh dance as provocatively as could be imagined.

“Just be sure you remember to gag me,” MJ said, pulling her uniform up over that peach of an ass with a wicked grin that told him she knew he’d about sell his soul for another moment’s look at it. “I cannot be that loud when the baby’s sleeping.”

Peter could only let his head drift back, knowing there was no focusing now with that promise floating through his mind. Maybe he could take a step back with the Avengers—see if some other spider-hero wanted to be an active member, since there seemed to be more and more each year. And if he called in a favor with Reed Richards, he could probably get a computer program to check which essays were written by AI: seemed apt.

Standing, he worked at getting his lowered pants back into presentable condition. “Let’s save some gas money. You can give me a ride back home.”

Mary Jane paused before fixing her lipstick to give him one last, positively demonic smile. There was no point in fighting her; she was a natural redhead. “Of course, tiger. You can have all the rides you want.”