Themysciran Treasures

Peter’s spider-sense was like an itch in the back of his skull as he swung by the Themysciran embassy. It was enough to divert him on his path, pulling on his webline until he’d pivoted into a curve that brought him over the building. As he flew overhead, he saw the skylight that’d been pried open, one pane of glass propped up into the air like the lonely gossamer wing of some huge insect. He came down for a landing right next to it, seeing a little burglar’s toolkit and a coil of rope fed into a small automatic winch. He’d seen those before on the Fox. He set up the rope so he could scurry down, then he keyed a remote and the rope was pulled back up until he pressed the remote again. It was a nice way to make an escape without leaving a rope hanging out in the middle of a room.

Peter went through the skylight himself, easily able to withstand the twenty foot drop by landing in a lithe crouch. Once again, he carefully attuned himself to his spider-sense. He wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, precisely, but through the darkened embassy with its oppressive silence, he got a strong sense of movement down the corridor to his left. There was an office at the end of the hall, but unlike all the others, the door was cracked slightly open. Peter jumped onto the wall beside the door, clinging to it as he stealthily peeked through the ajar door.

Her hair was parted on the left. It was long and almost pure white, ending in soft, flickering curls. Her green eyes were cat-like, narrow and open. Her eyebrows were dark, slim, and perfectly shaped. Her mouth was slightly downturned at the corners, offering character to lips that looked soft despite their dark lacquer. Her teeth were small and white and looked sharp.

But really, her face was remarkable just for holding a candle to her body. Her white hair and the white fur that trimmed her suit contracted with the skintight dark leather as much as her pale flesh did, a more than generous swath of it revealed from the blackness of her choker to the inside of her ample cleavage, all of it white as alabaster, a creamy counterpoint to her platinum blonde hair. It wasn’t pasty or placid at all, but lustrous and sheeny with life, as vibrant as milk in a commercial for breakfast cereal, and poured into her catsuit the same way.

And she had a safe wide open and was stuffing a knapsack with everything inside.

Peter cleared his throat and put on his best superhero voice. Just because she was a hot girl didn’t mean she wasn’t a bad girl (in fact, it seemed to make her a hotter girl). “Excuse me, miss, can I see your receipt?”

“Oh, you got me,” the woman cooed, making it sound a lot more… gotten than Peter ever would’ve thought. She preened, generous breasts pressed tight against her unzipped catsuit, which was hard-pressed to even begin to keep them contained. “Now what’re you gonna do with me?”

“Uhhh… jail?” Peter suggested off-handedly.

“Mmmm… communal showers… sounds fun… but those orange jumpsuits are hardly flattering.” Her voice was a warm, slinking purr, practically every word a breathy little moan, caressing and teasing Peter’s body as he heard her. “Surely we can come to some other arrangement?”

“Such as?” Peter asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking. It suddenly felt very fragile.

“I give you back my souvenirs and you look the other way.” The woman grinned, showing just how sharp her teeth really were. “Even if I do like being watched.”

Peter summoned his resolve. Great power, great responsibility, great power, great responsibility… “And then you’d just be out here some other night, stealing something else, and maybe then someone would get hurt. No way. I’m taking your loot and I’m bringing you in.”

“Ooooh… you drive a hard bargain,” she cooed, eyes raking over his body. Peter had never been more aware of how skintight his costume was—and it had never felt more skintight at his crotch. “What say I sweeten the pot?”

And, bringing her hand to her zipper, she pulled it lower. Peter hadn’t known it could go any lower while her nipples stayed inside her costume by such a bare margin that he could only attribute it to the Parker Luck. He saw her areolas peeking past the teeth of her zipper rails.

“That’s a… very sweet pot,” Peter breathed. He stared at her heaving breaths and her lush flesh and tried to think of something appropriately responsible to say, but those thoughts were far too cool to survive in the tropical climate his mind had developed. “But I’m not going to let you break the law just because you can stand there with your tiddies out.”

“Oh, I’m not just going to stand here,” she said. “I’m the Black Cat, and you know what happens when a black cat crosses your path.”

“A goth left their front door open?”

Her laugh was deep and mocking. Peter could only stare at the way it rippled her flesh so that every curve seemed to ebb and flow. And then Felicia sank to the edge of the office’s desk, reclining her body so he could see even more of it. He could see underneath her leathers, see the undersides of her firm breasts inside her suit, all but the nipples pressed tightly, almost smotheringly, against the well-stretched leather. “It means you’re either going to get to pet the kitty… or get scratched.”

“Get up, Cat, and come quietly. I don’t want to have to tie you up.” Peter could’ve shuddered at the lack of conviction in his words.

Black Cat did get up, but it was only to slink toward him, the jiggles of her voluptuous body rendered in perfect detail by the skintight leather. He thought he could see every little quiver that went through her body. “Spider, it’s snowing out,” she said. “And us cats like it warm. A patch of sunlight on our naked… fur. A saucer of hot milk. Or just a nice lap to cuddle up in.”

Her body glowed in the moonlight, her young, lush body a showcase of marble perfection. Peter couldn’t help staring.

“I let you have a look,” she whispered. “Now let me have a peek. C’mon… show me how you shoot all that white goo?”

“Cat!”

Peter shuddered as she reached down his midsection and felt between their bodies. There was no denying that his cock was fully erect, and Black Cat’s eyes opened wide when she felt it, a single finger tracing over its beating hardness—gleaming just like a cat’s.

“Oh, you definitely don’t want me to go to prison,” she smiled smugly, her eyes tracing over his prick. “But maybe you do want me to get fucked in the ass…”

She leaned up against him. Peter felt himself freeze as those full lips neared his. Then he felt his eyes closing as those soft, wet lips pressed eagerly through the mask to his mouth.

Through the thin fabric, her kiss was wet and hot, and her hands roamed knowingly over his body, sampling his strong muscles and the sadistic thrill of old bruises, old scars, that made him tense up at the touch. He told himself he was a fool for this, that he was jeopardizing everything he had worked for and proving everything J. Jonah Jameson had written about him correct. But then, when Black Cat’s warm fingers met his hard member and lifted its vast heft into the air, he knew there was no way for him to stop her.

Her lips brushed down the hollow of his throat, stopping at the nearly invisible divide between his mask and the neck of his costume. Her teeth nipped at it, getting a grip on the hem of his mask, and she lifted it up his gulping throat, up over his chin, his lips still tingling from the veiled kiss they’d shared—“Don’t!”—but the unmasking stopped there as her tongue, sudden and wicked, shoved its way into his mouth and sought its opposite.

Peter groaned and clamped his hands on her slender waist as she kissed him. He didn’t know if he’d moved closer to her or if she was even more eager in pressing herself against him, but now they were melting together, her bare flesh burning through his thin covering, as they embraced and kissed and felt each other’s rising passion. 

Peter grunted and squirmed; Black Cat pressed her body closer to his and her lips and tongue continued to answer his every desire. When she ground her breasts against his chest, nipping at his tongue as it lashed between her lips, Peter thought he could fuck her right through her costume. Even the moment it would take to rip off of her would be a moment too long. 

His hands roamed her back and full buttocks; helpless to resist the arc of her spine that herded his palms along her curve. He could feel the warmth of her flesh right through the skintight leather, and he savored it. But what he relished even more was when she took him by the wrists and brought his hands up to her face, feeling the bare skin of her cheeks around their kiss, her exposed flesh seeming to vibrate with the same desire as his. Then she brought his hands lower.

Black Cat was breathing deeply too as he cupped her breasts in his palms and squeezed them, the resilient flesh rallying in the hard, engorged nipples and swelling in his hands. She pressed herself against him tighter, he tried to feel every bit of her body burning against him with its tingling, maddening heat.

She moaned and dug her nails into his back, into the symbol of his heroic identity as he clutched her in his arms. Honey, her flesh was like honey, sweet and warm and liquid. He opened his eyes as he mouthed her ear, looking down her back. The leather was so tight he could see the supple curvature of the vale between her buttocks. He did… he did want her to get fucked in the ass. He wanted her to get fucked everywhere.

“Ooooh, what’s this?” she mewled as she reached down to his groin and held his cock again. There was more of it to hold now. Much more. “It’s so hot, so hot and hard.”

Peter felt himself getting dizzy as a wave of pleasure started at her warm fingers on the head of his prick and passed through his body to every last receptive nerve.  “Cat…”

She looked up into his eyes imploringly. “Call me Felicia. And I can call you…” She began to sink down to her knees, her head just getting lower and lower. She never stopped staring into his masked eyes. “Daddy? Master? Lover?” She settled onto her knees, his cock pointing right at her. He could feel the precum seeping out of his tip, and knew that she could see it. Her nostrils flared… God, could she smell it? Did she like the smell of it? “Spider,” Felicia finished, licking her lips. “I’ve always liked spiders… every cat likes having an itsy-bitsy something to bat around…”

That was when she struck. Swinging her head forward, she actually gave his crotch a little kiss while swooping between his legs. Peter heard, barely, the whizz of a grappling line retracing and saw the knapsack snatching itself off the desk and flying between his legs as well, returning to Felicia’s hand like a yo-yo at the end of a trick. She must’ve spooled out the cord while she slithered up to him, the goddamned little…

Pulling his pants up and trying to ignore the throbbing soreness making every movement into mild agony, Peter threw himself up into the air and shot out a webline to cross the hall, landing on the ceiling and blocking off the open skylight she’d used to get inside.

“Nice try,” he said, wheezing a little. “But now you haven’t got anywhere to go.”

“Who says I want to go anywhere?” Felicia asked. “You’re the one staying up there when you could come down and play…”

“You really think I’m going to fall for that again? Why don’t you zip up the suit so you don’t look like a stripper when I haul you in?”

“Why don’t you take a minute to jerk off so you don’t look like you’ve got a lamppost shoved down your pants? When you haul me in? You might be unlucky; have someone think you’re a pervert.”

“Lady, even if I believed in luck, mine is so bad that you couldn’t do a thing to jinx it.”

“Oh?” Felicia asked. “Let’s see if we can turn it around.”

With that said, she took hold of either half of her opened catsuit and ripped it to both sides, flashing him with her full, enormous breasts. They were even bigger than they’d appeared in the tight confines of her catsuit, which surely had tamped them down somewhat--no wonder it’d been unzipped, she probably couldn’t zip it all the way up over them without ripping the catsuit to tatters. And, freed, they weren’t D-cups, double-Ds...what were they, F-cups? 32G? Each looked as big as his head, and with barely any droop, just the proud thrusting jut that now seemed impossible to have fit inside any clothing. 

Peter froze, gawking at her, and in that lull, Felicia launched herself at him. She grabbed hold of his balls, using them as a pivot point to spin around him and redirect her momentum up through the skylight. In the unbearable suspension of feeling the pressure pulling and yanking along his scrotum, Peter felt Felicia squeeze, black flashing across his vision and a heartstopping moment of agony before she let go. His balls throbbed so hard and so sorely that he wondered if she had broken them, and it was only by looking down that he could see there was no sign of injury, only five keening marks on the fabric over his crotch where her claws had kittenishly penetrated the cloth--but left him untouched. 

Reeling like he was on a roller coaster and gasping for breath, Peter marshalled his arms to haul himself out onto the rooftop after Felicia. His legs felt limp and useless, like they’d fallen asleep, and as soon as he was up on the roof he knelt there, cupping his groin, the protective pressure of his hands bringing a measure of relief to his aching groin. He saw Felicia running for it, her ass swaying in leather that was as tight as ever--he could even see by the sides of her tits that she was still bare-breasted, running with them out in the night air. 

There was only one thing Peter could do while his balls were hurting like this. Curling his middle fingers to his wrist, he fired off a webline at Felicia. It hit accurately in the small of her back, adhering to her leathers and pulling her up short. And, like any cat, Felicia immediately detested the idea of wearing a leash.

She turned around, slashing at the webline, but it was far too durable to be shredded by her claws. She crossed her arms over her still bared breasts, looking at him so fiercely that for a moment, Peter thought of her as some barbarian queen, her casual nudity and the threat of imminent violence strikingly attractive in the silvery moonlight.

“You’re a real quick shooter,” she said. “Maybe you liked that little curve I threw you.”

“Last chance,” Peter groaned. “Put your tits away and let me web you up. Or… or else!”

“Well, if you won’t let go, I guess there’s no point in resisting you. I’ll just have to give in…”

In one swift movement she whipped her catsuit down to her waist. Her plump breasts sprang forward, their dusky nipples engorged with excitement. Then she stripped the costume down her legs and stood before him stark naked, her pale flesh luminous with pure sex, her curly pubic hairs glistening metallically with aroused juices. She still wore a thong, the thin triangle of fabric in front covering her sex itself in--of course--white, with a trail of sparse curls leading down to the low-slung waistband. Still standing there, Felicia cupped her breasts in her hands and raised them easily to her mouth, licking either nipple.

Peter felt his cock leap, something creamy oozing out of his purple knob. “I… I’ll…”

Freed from the webline, Felicia picked up her knapsack. “Get that suit washed for me, would you hon? Someday I might swing by your place and, ah, need something to wear…”

Peter fired another webline at her--she couldn’t very well take off her skin if he snagged her naked body--but his aim was off, so far off that it was like his webshooter had malfunctioned. The webline hit a gargoyle on the ledge beside Felicia, the cat burglar marveling at the splatter the webbing had made against the target.

“Oh my, you shot twice. How satisfying! Bad luck you didn’t hit me. I’m wondering a little how that goop would feel on my bare skin.”

Then she lashed out with the only real clothing she was still wearing, her boots, and savagely karate-kicked the gargoyle. Peter barely noticed, her turn revealing her pert buttocks, only the single slender line of her thong clothing them, like a strand from the white fur she’d worn on her gloves and collar.

The stone statue broke off from the roof and toppled off the edge of the building. Peter’s webshooter wouldn’t disengage. He was pulled by the webline like a car being towed, dragged along the crowd, his sensitive groin throbbing with each little jab and jangle the uneven roof threw through his body. Still naked, Felicia waved at him as he was pulled past her.

Peter hit the parapet, his momentum crashing him right through it, and then he was in open air, plummeting down to the ground. Not only that, but the statue was effectively a meteor coming down toward the city street. Even at night, there was a good chance it would flatten a car or pedestrian--that chance he couldn’t take.

His webshooter still wouldn’t disengage, but hopefully the one on his other wrist would work. Peter threw his arm out and curled his fingers, depressing the trigger. Another webline lanced out, striking a nearby building, and Peter swung from it with the gargoyle trailing under him like a wrecking ball. He still couldn’t break the webline attaching it to him, but he could aim it at a closed Starbucks and hope no one needed a caffeine fix for the next few weeks…

The gargoyle smashed through the coffee shop’s front window in an explosion of glass. It crashed deep inside the store. Peter let go of his second webline and dove, catching himself on an awning and hanging there to look inside the shop. As he’d hoped, no one had been there to be hurt by his accidental act of vandalism. But it just went to show how truly dangerous Black Cat was. He’d been right to try and bring her in; sooner or later, someone would get hurt with her on the loose.

Peter quickly worked the mechanism on his malfunctioning webshooter, severing the errant webline and loading another web cartridge into it. Hopefully, that would tide it over until he could perform a more extensive disassembly. For now, he was getting Felicia off the streets.

Leaping away from the crash site and taking to his weblines, he scanned the exterior of the embassy for Felicia, finding her descending the sidewall of the building by shimmying down a rope, the knapsack slung over her shoulder. Her naked shoulder. She was really going to make her escape in nothing but her boots? He supposed if he looked like that, he wouldn’t see much need to be shy either, but still. Hot damn.

Coming in for a landing, Peter went spread-eagle, catching himself on all four limbs--only for the tiles of the wall he’d landed on to snap closed on his limbs like bear-traps. They didn’t cut into his flesh, but they did tighten on his hands and feet more than hard enough to hold him in place, on all fours beside Felicia. He was left splayed out on the wall, just as he would normally stick to it, but unable to pull any of his hands or feet free. The spider was trapped in someone else’s web.

“Oh dear!” she cried in fake concern. “Looks like you tripped the security system. It’s just not your day, is it?”

“At least I’m still wearing clothes!” Peter shot back.

“Oh, you’re calling that little fetish outfit clothes? Honestly, as tight as it is on all those tight muscles, I’d almost think I was meant to enjoy it. What the hell--maybe I will.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter demanded, only to turn his head and see.

With one arm and one leg wrapped up in her climbing rope to hold her steady like a trapeze artist, Felicia reached down to lightly caress below the crotch of her panties. With her other arm holding onto the rope at the elbow, she slipped her hand to her cleavage and gently cupped a firm teat. The silky smooth texture of her bare breasts led inexorably to the delicious hardness of her erect nipple. She gently squeezed it between her fingers.

The fingers of her other hand weaved idly through her soft, satiny pubic hairs. Extending her middle finger, Felicia ran it along the wet flesh of her outer labia. She could feel the soft wetness inside herself, eager to stretch around the intruding thickness of a hot, throbbing prick.

Raising her legs to stretch out away from the building and parting them wide, she inhaled deeply, the breath making her ample breasts thrust up from her chest. Her cherry-sized nipples puckered away from her swollen areolas and the excited goosebumps betraying her arousal. Closing her eyes, she arched her back, raising her breasts even higher as if she were offering them up to Peter’s mouth, if only he could move to take them.

Her middle finger continued teasing her pussy, slowly at first, and then with a fervor befitting the excited red hue coming over the pink flesh. Her rubbing hand was spreading a glossy film over her groin. Her finger probed deeper, its entry rolling over her heated clit, the exit trailing across it as well. Her sex was covered with the ample arousal that was flowing from her pussy and coating her hand.

Closing her eyes, Felicia opened her thighs wider, lifting her knees to offer more of her wet pussy to her busy fingers and Peter’s avid eyes. Her black, beestung lips were hanging open, showing every inch of her tongue as it described her teeth.

Letting out a soft, yet passionate moan, Felicia thrust her finger far up inside herself. She withdrew the juice-covered digit only slowly, before plunging it back inside with another finger beside it. Her clit rasped against both fingers as they penetrated her. The cool moonlight played caressingly on her body as she continued pleasuring herself, her deft fingers both soothing and exciting her swollen slit.

As her fingers toyed deliciously with her receptive cunt, Felicia’s hand moved sensuously down over her hips and under the softness of her plush ass. Grinning with ecstasy, she worked her fingers around the voluptuousness of her buttocks and into the curving valley between them.

Using the tip of her middle finger, Felicia teased the sensitive rim of her anus. A new excitement rippled through her body, the delicious tension of prodding into a portal supposedly not meant to be violated, and the sweet sensation of that forbidden opening yielding to her own lusting pressure. Excitedly pressing her fingertip against the puckered gateway, Felicia felt both penetration and surrender, either side of the hot buttery warmth inside her ass.

Both her cunt and her asshole were quivering with impaled bliss as her fingers skewered her deliciously, finding no pain, only the moist heat of being totally entered. Crazed with this newfound ecstasy, Felicia thrust the entire length of her finger into her anal passage, while with her other hand she avidly rocked her palm against her clit.

“Oh fuck!” she sobbed delightedly as her fingers tore away the insensate numbness of her unaroused body and replaced it with juicy burning. “I wonder if your cock would feel this good inside me, Spider! Ohh! Would I have come already if it were your sweet fucking prick inside me and not these dainty little fingers? Ungh! Guess we’ll never know!”

Her sex was flaming, sucking, exploding, spilling her gushing climax all over the plunging hand between her thighs, tightening like a noose around the finger in her ass. Wiggling the full length of her taboo finger deep in her asshole, Felicia felt the pleasure of her anal entry hit her like a chaser after hard liquor.

Her womanly hips rolled and tossed frantically as her fingers jabbed wildly in and out of her erogenous zones. Her orgasms swirled together inside her, almost traumatic in their force, washing over her with violent glee that had her laughing like a thrillseeker on a roller coaster. She lifted her hips high into the air as delicious pleasure filled both her holes, and her legs trembled and kicked in the air. A sheen of sweat covered her nude body now, darkened her hair into shades of gray, and when she looked Peter in the eye with a wry look of satisfaction, it was all too much for him.

“Didn’t I say you wanted me to get fucked in the ass?”

Peter just couldn’t believe that this was happening to him. He had dreamed of ridiculous erotic fantasies for so long that something actually happening was just too much. One-tenth of this would’ve been too much, but being forced to just sit and watch as Felicia gave him a guided tour of her body, of all the pleasures he could’ve brought her too, of what it would actually look like to see her coming as he slid himself into the hot pussy she’d been so proud of showing him—he could not take it.

Peter groaned in frustrated delirium and felt his hard cock explode in his pants.