Spock's Goatee

Mary Jane Watson cracked her neck. The amount of tension it released from her overwrought body was minimal, but that still came as a relief after the hours spent in her flight suit. Much as she enjoyed being the Green Goblin, the suit and mask were not comfortable, and she paid for them for hours afterward.

But it’d been worth it. Even if Spider-Man had stopped her from blowing up that tram, the fight had served as excellent cover for her men to infiltrate Praxis Labs and steal multiple vials of Compound 17, which would come in incredibly useful in the future. That alone made the night a success. Getting to scrap with Spider-Man was simply a bonus. It would’ve been better if she’d managed to finally kill him, but a draw was fitting. It would’ve been disappointing if he’d died in such a cavalier fashion. A worthy opponent such as him deserved a final defeat that was—

Then she felt arms wrap around her. Her first impulse was shock. Surprise that someone had managed to sneak up on her. Then came the impulse to fight her way out of the hold, but the embrace was so unexpectedly… wholesome. It tickled her mind in an odd way—even if she was simply Mary Jane Watson right now, with no trace of her supervillain persona in evidence, she wasn’t used to being hugged.

“Hey, babe.” Warm lips caressed her cheek; Mary Jane felt herself blush. “You won’t believe the day I had.”

It sounded like… that was Peter. Spider-Man! He’d found her! And he was holding her, kissing her, telling her about his day? Mary Jane felt faint. She knew the Spider liked to tease her, but this couldn’t be that. Even he wasn’t actually suicidal.

“Another dimension, MJ. I spent all day in a whole ‘nother dimension. Different superheroes, different supervillains—they have Analyze This but not Analyze That—weird! Thank God I’m home now. Even if I only did an eight-hour shift in the mirror universe I missed you like crazy.”

He kissed her ear now, tongue sliding along its contour, adding a tingle of lust to Mary Jane’s drastically overwhelmed body. She wasn’t even sure what she was feeling now. Warm? Turned on? What was he doing to her—she’d had no idea her body could respond this way to this, this stranger who was touching her in the most intimate way imaginable. Far more intimate than the anonymous sex she’d grown used to sating her body’s needs with.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you didn’t notice I was gone. Just so long as you notice I’m here now. Hey, you’re tense,” Peter said, letting go of her with one hand to run long, slender fingers down her back. “God, it feels like you pulled a muscle.”

“And whose fault is that?” Mary Jane snapped, trying to summon up the Green Goblin’s rage and dominance—maybe he knew, maybe this was all his warped way of confronting her, who knew with a man who tried to save the world when all it offered him was fear and hatred?

Peter, however, only kissed the back of her neck. “Sorry, babe. I would’ve texted, but my service plan doesn’t cover parallel universes. Even if it did, imagine the roaming charges.” If his story was true, then he really hadn’t been the one to give her that punishing kick in the back. But that meant… “I didn’t mean to make you worry. Let me make it up to you…”

She felt his hands at her belly, pulling her tanktop up over her head. Then his hands were back down at her waist, undoing the catch on her shorts. “Hey,” Mary Jane muttered impotently as he pushed them down her legs.

Her panties were purple, as was her bra. He plucked at the waistband of her thong. “Are these new? I like them. Maybe I should leave them on for a while.”

His hands started kneading the taut muscles of her back. He poked, pinched, and pulled at her flesh. His hands worked up to her neck. Mary Jane cooed as his clutching hands bored into the stiff muscle, snapping the tension right out of her bones, then radiating a pleasing warmth into her neck as he squeezed and squeezed…

“Oh God,” Mary Jane moaned. “You think you can just… walk right in here… start touching me…”

“I’d buy you dinner first, but I’m broke,” he quipped. “Would it help if I gave a solemn vow not to enjoy it as much as you? You know… I give you the champagne bottle, but I don’t pop the cork?”

“But that’s the best part…” Mary Jane didn’t know why she said that. It simply slipped out.

“Naughty, naughty,” Peter said, giving her plump little buttocks a slap.

Mary Jane squeaked and felt an irresistible urge to wiggle her ass for him. It’d… maybe been a while since she’d had a man like this. Not just venting his lust for her, but teasing her and playing with her and making her feel like—she didn’t know. Mary Jane had never felt this way before.

“Why don’t we lay you down?” Peter continued. “That way, I can get at all of you.”

Wordlessly, feeling happily dazed, Mary Jane allowed herself to be led to a nearby futon. Peter laid her down on her stomach, while he knelt behind her. He rubbed over her tight shoulder muscles again, quickly summoning up the same relaxation Mary Jane had felt before her spike of lust at being spanked.

Then he was working lower and lower, his strong fingers pushing and pulling the luscious flesh of her hips, from her slender waist to where her figure swelled out into her ass. Peter was caressing her buttocks now, molding them with his hands, in a way that was anything but relaxing, but that she was compelled to go along with. It wasn’t exactly soothing to find herself helplessly turned on, desperate to be touched some more, but it was… tranquil to go along with his wishes, his desire for her, even his feelings for her. It felt like all Peter wanted to do was please her and all she had to do was let him.

In the end, all she could do was lie still. Peter started in on her legs, going just under the firm swell of her ass, massaging his way down to her feet. The pale, creamy skin held the imprints of his fingers, seeming to glow after he’d melted her stinging muscles into a warm quiescence.

Then he turned her onto her back and Mary Jane was left staring up at him. The bastard was still in his costume, all but his mask and his gloves. His bare hands petted her hair away from her face before soothingly stroking the plains of her cheeks, the angle of her jaw, eradicating her discomfort even from there.

Mary Jane couldn’t figure him out, couldn’t make the pieces fit. He said he was from some other dimension… one where he was obviously intimate with his Mary Jane… was the Green Goblin a hero there? Did he not mind her ruling New York’s underworld? His hands swept down to the crest of her cleavage.

“I see you’re not having a problem enjoying this more than I am, and I’m enjoying myself an awful lot. Your nipples look like pencil erasers.”

“It’s cold in here!” Mary Jane protested, speaking directly from her wounded ego. She couldn’t believe Peter was getting to her like this. After years of letting herself be slighted by his juvenile taunts, now he was making her react just by touching her. It made no sense!

His hands broke the seal on her bra, opening the front closure and then the heaving of her own breasts forced her bra apart in the middle, letting her cleavage come spilling out. Peter silently worked her bra away from her, throwing it aside with all the rest of her clothes, then began kneading. Mary Jane cooed as the tender flesh of her breasts was wonderfully brutalized by his scouring hands. She couldn’t help it. It felt incredible.

His hands slid off her breasts, moving to her flat stomach instead. Mary Jane was so keyed up, the sensation was almost ticklish. Peter flattened his fingers and used the sides of his hands to chop at Mary Jane’s abdomen. The rhythm soaked into her lean muscle. It was relaxing all of her, even her inhibitions. She felt dampness between her legs, rolling over her under the cover of her panties. Mary Jane felt a quiver of shame, giving in so thoroughly to this odd seduction, but she also couldn’t remember when she had last felt so relaxed.

Peter rolled her onto her side, his knowing hands sliding along on either side of her thong panties, stroking and caressing her buttocks into supple instruments of pleasure. Her lips moistly parted as his fingers snagged her panties, now trailing them down her long legs, working them away from her feet. Mary Jane was totally naked with this strange, yet familiar man. It felt like she’d known him a lifetime—like she had a lifetime of love to give him. Maybe she had been bereft of affection for too long. Now she felt like she was addicted to it.

“You’re sweating,” Peter observed, running a finger along Mary Jane’s waist, his fingertip stirring wetness along Mary Jane’s gleaming skin. He dropped the damp sweat between his fingers. “How about a shower now? You can never be fully relaxed until you’re nice and clean.”

“Shower?” Mary Jane blinked a few times. To shower, she’d need to be naked, and she wasn’t sure if… but she was naked. He had stripped her, piece by piece, and she’d gone along with it so readily that… she didn’t even feel naked. She was as comfortable, as contented, as she would be wearing anything.

“Come along,” Peter said, helping her to her feet. As he led her to the bathroom, Mary Jane looked over her shoulder at all her discarded clothes, littering the floor along with Peter’s mask and gloves. This was all so bizarre. But she’d become the Green Goblin to take what she wanted from life, to get the best of everything. And anything that felt this good—she wanted.

Stripping off his top to leave himself in only the pants of his costume, Peter brought her to the bathroom. He turned the water on, hot, steam permeating the room. Then his hand at the small of Mary Jane’s back, easing her under the spray. The sudden warmth and wetness felt good, washing the last vestiges of the outside world from her soft pink flesh. Suddenly Peter flicked the water to icy cold.

“Peter, what the fuck?” Mary Jane demanded, shivering, running for the door under the sudden onslaught. Peter caught her and held her firm, giving the cold water several moments to blast her.

“Easy, easy,” he told her. “Trust me, I do this all the time. It’ll make sure that tension doesn’t come creeping back in the moment your back is turned. And since when do you use such foul language, young lady? You been hanging out with sailors again?”

He turned the water off, then picked up a big fluffy towel to wrap her body in. Mary Jane took him rubbing her dry as an apology—his hands soothing, the towel feeling soft and decadent where it embraced her.

Finally, with Mary Jane still in no more than the towel, Peter picked her up and carried her to the bed.

“That’s new,” he said, observing the mirror on the ceiling overhanging the bed. “Were you setting up a surprise for me?”

Mary Jane adroitly sidestepped the question. “Shut up and get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am. One second while I get a little massage oil.”

So Mary Jane laid there, limp, boneless, only moving to whisk the towel around to cover herself with. It cut down the wind chill from the air conditioning, but she still felt far too cool, especially in comparison to that wonderful warmth she’d had, basking in Peter’s touch. If he didn’t come back and start massaging her again soon…

“I could’ve sworn I had some real good stuff in the fridge, but I guess not. Olive oil will do, though. Chemically, it’s really quite similar.”

“You’re going to get olive oil all over my bed?” Mary Jane asked, amused. Of all the ways Peter could require her to change the sheets…

“Move the towel under your body.”

Mary Jane did as she was told, again thinking how strange this all was. Taking orders from Spider-Man, of all people. But the strangeness was fading. It felt too good to remain unfamiliar to her. She was getting used to it—and liking it—very, very quickly.

“Alright, MJ. Now that you’re nice and clean, let’s give you a little seasoning.”

“Oh?” Mary Jane purred. “Are you going to eat me?”

“No comment, pretty lady.”

He poured the oil onto her bare back, then set the bottle aside. A moment later, his nimble fingers were working the olive oil into every pore of her back. He circled his hands down her lower back, across her buttocks, rubbed the oil into the backs of her thighs. His chopping hands relaxed her tightly wound thigh muscles and calves, then he squeezed the oil deep into them.

Picking her up as easily as a feather, Peter laid Mary Jane onto her back and poured the oil onto her chest and belly. This time, instead of her gaze lingering on him, Mary Jane looked up at the mirror, watching how Peter played her body like a musical instrument. She saw every moment of him working the olive oil into her skin. He massaged her breasts again, carefully steering clear of her erect nipples, not wanting to overstimulate her.

Mary Janewanted that, but how to ask him for it? How to dissolve that last barrier of passivity and suddenly be in active participant in what was happening to her? Peter moved down her body, palms sliding over her strong thighs, the smooth skin growing smoother and damper like he was polishing it to a sheen.

“Do you like watching me?” Peter asked, and Mary Jane’s eyes flitted to her own reflection and the unreadable look on her own face.

“Yes, Peter. It makes what you’re doing to me feel even better.”

“And are your muscles relaxed?”

“On the outside, yes.”

“So you have muscles on the inside you want me to relax?”

Mary Jane’s lips drew back, almost in a rictus, before she spoke. Here it was. Here was where she went from simply enjoying this cosmic misunderstanding to asking for more. And she’d been bled dry of any compunctions about doing so.

“That olive oil,” Mary Jane purred, “it makes everything nice and slick, doesn’t it? And loose.”

Peter grinned. “Then I guess we’ll have to wash a pillow too.”

Dragging one down from the head of the bed, he placed it underneath Mary Jane’s hips to put her lower body at an incline and poured more of the warm olive oil into the hollow of her belly. The oil ran down into her pubic thatch; Peter mixed it in with his fingers. H

e rubbed his touch just shy of her mons, over her clit, around the hill of her labia, then down in the sensitive skin between her slit and her little pink anus. His fingers skated over Mary Jane’s sex, adding the olive oil on his hands to Mary Jane’s own wet arousal.

“Ohoooo—Peter!” Mary Jane’s hips were undulating, in a constant state of tiny vibrations, as she reached down to run her fingers through Peter’s hair—hold tight to his head—force him down toward her womanhood, as if she needed him to look at it, see how wet he’d made her, how wet and swollen and needy a cunt could get.

And he seemed hypnotized, enthralled, subconsciously licking his lips in a way that sent a flutter through Mary Jane’s body. All she wanted in the world was for him to use that tongue on her…

“Have I caught you at a bad time?”

Mary Jane jerked upright, hanging onto Peter’s head, in fact grasping him by the neck as he tried to back up and see who had spoken. Mary Jane didn’t want him going anywhere, even if Doctor Octopus had paid her an uninvited visit, her and her four tentacles all watching the show as ardently as Mary Jane had stared at it in the mirror on the ceiling.

“What do you want, Gwen?” Mary Jane snarled. “As you can see, I’m busy!”