SCARLET SONJA SPIRAL SILVER Chapter 14

Mary Jane looked up from the sheaf of documents she’d been studying when Peter walked in, a broad grin on his face. His jacket was over one shoulder, his shirt deeply unbuttoned to show the wide expanse of muscles on his slender chest—like some yoga instructor for the gods.

“You’re back early,” Mary Jane said, glancing at the clock. 

“Well, when you’re efficient,” Peter said as he sat down. He looked at Mary Jane for a long moment, his eyes going over her perfect body, defiantly official in her businesslike dress.

“What’s the matter?” MJ asked him teasingly. “Wanda didn’t do it for you?”

“Just the opposite. I did it for her a little too much. Why do you think I’m home early?” He took out his wallet and produced a check which he slid across Mary Jane’s desk. “She wants me again next weekend.”

Mary Jane glanced at the check. It was as sizeable as Peter was. ”Well! I hope you feel appreciated!”

“Not just yet,” Peter said, straightening his lapels. “Since I finished early—so to speak—why don’t we spend a little time together? Paint the town red?”

“I’d love to, but my plane leaves in a couple hours.”

Peter wasn’t fooled for a minute. His eyebrows waggled. Mary Jane obligingly slid her hand across the desk to interlace with his fingers.

“Which leaves us a couple hours,” she concluded. “For what it’s worth.”

He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “I’ll make sure it’s worth a lot.”

Mary Jane pulled her hand back teasingly. “First, though—what’s this I hear about you scoring a new client?”

“I’d hardly say I’ve scored,” Peter quipped. “You might need to come in and seal the deal.”

Mary Jane stood up to put her documents in the drawer behind her. The tight dress she wore showed off her plump ass like the frame on a painting.

“That’s what I’m here for,” MJ said. “Who did you have in mind? Because we’re making enough money from your stud service not to bother with some old hag. But if she’s cute, well…”

“She’s cute,” Peter said, staring at Mary Jane’s buttocks, round and juicy as a Christmas ham coming out of the oven. “Cute as you.”

“Cute as Red Sonja?” Mary Jane asked over her shoulder, her eyes glowing with knowledge. 

Peter’s face turned beet-red, wondering how she could be so sharp. And Mary Jane smirked, because she could see right through him. A few times in bed she’d given him her Sonja impression, felt his wild excitement in response, his big cock lurching and trembling inside her like a rocket during ignition. 

Mary Jane did a half turn, giving him her profile and letting him see how ripely her ass curved out from her waist and thighs. She ran a hand along her hourglass curves. Her skirt might not have been made of chainmail, but it did the job. “I wouldn’t mind climbing into bed with someone gorgeous like that. Like Red Sonja,” she said in a soft whisper. “As long as you’re there to help out. She might be too much for me on my own.”

Peter gulped, feeling a rush of blood into his erection. Christ, but Mary Jane was one hell of a vixen. She couldn’t just turn a man on, she could hook him like a salmon with a fly lure. 

Mary Jane came around the desk. “Do you think she’d go for it, tiger? How interested have you made her?”

She beached herself against his body and Peter wrapped his arms around her, seizing Mary Jane’s hot ass in his hands. His cock rose like a cannon about to fire. “She’s interested. She just needs to know that I’m interested without scaring her off.”

“Why would any girl be scared of you?” MJ teased, rubbing her thigh against Peter’s growing erection while raising a hint of an eyebrow. “You’re a pussy-cat, tiger. Unzip me?”

She turned, bending over enough to push her ass lasciviously into his crotch, a gesture so obscenely exciting that Peter was not only rock-hard, he had to exert himself not to come. He obediently unzipped her dress. Underneath, gentle freckles cascaded down Mary Jane’s bare skin, briefly interrupted by the strap of a skimpy red bra.

Despite his profession, and how wild and wanton and eager his ‘clientele’ inevitably were with him, Peter still felt awkward with Mary Jane. However sexual she was, she was still a lady. How the hell did you tell a vision of loveliness that you were dying to sandwich another such goddess against her flesh? Or that you desperately wanted to fuck her soft, beautiful ass and see whether it was she or Sonja who came the hardest from it? 

But Mary Jane, devilish little tease that she was, put it into words, defusing the tension with the exact right terminology to make Peter’s ears burn in a good way. He could listen to her reel off his own fantasies for hours.

“I can handle Sonja,” Mary Jane promised, lustfully weaving her hips around as she worked the dress down her body. With her panty-clad ass jutting out into the open air above her stocking-swaddled legs, Peter wanted to kiss every inch of her, starting with that heavenly valley between her buttocks. “Can she afford the asking price, though? If you’re giving it away for free, Parker, I want it going to me.”

“Who says you won’t end up the one paying her?” Peter asked.

“I suppose I could afford it. And I am in the habit of getting what I want.” She stared Peter boldly in the eye, all the flirtation leaving her body. She was deathly serious now, a woman who fully intended to be satisfied. “What I want right now is for you to fuck me. Not like those silly little girls you play with. Like you know I can take.”

With a cheerleader spring, she did a handstand, her long lean legs all up in the air. Her panties did nothing to prevent her pussy from being on display.

“Take them off me, tiger. Then it’s all yours,” she told the astonished Peter.

Obediently, Peter pulled her panties up, sliding them along her slender supermodel legs until she could pedal her feet and kicked them off. But Peter was only of average height and Mary Jane was tall for a woman. They didn’t quite line up.

“I can’t reach you!” Peter griped, getting up on tiptoes.

“Then lick me,” Mary Jane told him. “Kneel down, eat my pussy, and I’ll suck your cock. And hurry up. I hate micromanaging.”

***

“You’re delicious,” Wanda heard.

She was used to men saying such things to her. Between the subpar examples of humanity the Avengers often fought—when their enemies were human at all—and the scant costume that she so enjoyed wearing, it was an annoyance she often faced. As a mutant and a Roma, she’d heard far worse. Being desired, even in a crude way, was preferable to… many things.

But rarely had anyone said it like Peter did. It wasn’t obscene, but it was much more than a statement of fact. The words came out husky, sexual, almost domineering in the way they took hold of Wanda’s desires. 

She’d often had to seek out the subtext of such emotional, human words in her conversations with the Vision. But Peter was so blunt, so open and honest in his passion, that his words gained immediate traction. They went deep into Wanda, stirring the simmering fires whose warmth she’d tried to ignore all night. Or at least, even since Red Sonja had put a stop to the ritual with Peter. If it could still be called a ritual at that point with any honesty. 

He wanted her. Wanda wanted him. She was separated from Vision and whatever he had with Mary Jane, it seemed open-ended, or maybe it could be open-ended… It was already so complicated, and MJ being possessed by Sonja made it a Gordian Knot, one that couldn’t be untangled before Sonja was dealt with. 

Or so Wanda had thought. But now Peter had said that. Was it just a compliment—a compliment made while they shared the same bed, perhaps even while he thought she was asleep and not conscious to hear him—or was he opening the door to something? Did he yearn for her as Wanda had yearned for him, enough to need her when it would complicate everything so much more? Or perhaps make it simple, biological—necessary?

“Over on your belly,” Peter continued. “Show me that tight ass.”

Hearing him, Wanda actually moaned out loud. That was no mere compliment! He wanted her and she couldn’t, wouldn’t deny him. How often had her friend Jan told her—chances at happiness were rare. Not to be squandered. Perhaps her chance with Vision had passed by and by clinging to it, she might miss her chance with Peter?

Either way, she rolled over, digging her face into her pillow.

“Yeah,” Peter groaned. “There’s an ass that needs my cock.”

Wanda had experimented with anal sex, but never truly taken it on. Taking advantage of Vision’s lack of taste buds, he’d licked and kissed that orifice a few times, but that was far enough into the realm of the taboo for Wanda. 

But she recalled an interview with Mary Jane—the semi-sleazy kind, meant to titillate, done while she shot a lingerie pictorial with a men’s magazine. It had covered the topic of sodomy, and while Mary Jane had been playfully elusive, “It depends on how much he’s willing to do to make me enjoy it, because you know he’ll enjoy it,” but there was no mistaking the look on her face. 

A little naughty, a little mischievous, eyes flashing wantonly—the look of a woman recalling a guilty pleasure. It wasn’t that Mary Jane was not that good an actress, but that Wanda had seen it on MJ’s face as they shared Peter—shared everything—and on both occasions, it was worn with utter sincerity.

Now Wanda was eager to try what Mary Jane had enjoyed so much, reaching back under the covers to draw her nightie up over her pert ass. She couldn’t believe she was doing that much, even in the darkness of the unlit room, under the covers that she and Peter shared. It was all so dirty, but nicely so. It had the tang of an indiscretion, like her friendship with Jean had once, only deeper in her stomach. More intense.

Wanda found herself gasping, groaning, wondering when he would first touch her and how he would first touch her. She’d long known her ass was a subject of desire—how could it not be, soft and nubile as it was, her costume always either showing it off or adhering tight as a glove to its contours—the loincloth on her latest outfit ready to reveal it entirely if it weren’t for some discreet hex charms keeping her modesty preserved and continuously vexing the kind who felt free to shout so odious interjections about her body. But she’d never considered it an erogenous zone. Not something to literally be fucked. 

How would he do it? She knew Peter had experience; Mary Jane would settle for nothing less. And as blushing conversations with Jen and Jan had revealed, there would need to be some preparation, even for two superhumans. The laws of physics, at least on that account, had to be heeded. 

So what would he do? Lick her? Had he brought lubricant—been desirous of her for so long that he had prepared for this eventuality, as someone who was diabetic would bring doses of insulin along with them to assuage their need? Or perhaps he would spit in his hand and lubricate himself, which seemed so gauche, yet oddly appealing. As rustic as the sweaty horseflesh and unpaved roads she had grown up with. Whatever he did, Wanda knew Peter’s core of gentleness would prevail. It would not hurt—at least, not too much for her to take. No, it would leave her with the same fond remembrance Mary Jane had had. God, how Wanda wanted to be adored as Peter clearly adored her…

This was becoming unbearable. Her mound was tender to the point of harshness where she laid against the mattress—her sex throbbing, her very anus tingling in anticipation of Peter’s entrance. Wanda reached back and gripped either of her buttocks, prying them apart to expose herself even further to Peter, to openly invite him into her bowels.

“What are you waiting for?” Wanda keened. “Do it—do it now! You don’t even have to prepare me, dammit, just take me!”

“God, Mary Jane,” Peter gasped, as though feeling unimaginable pressure on his manhood even then. “Your asshole is so fucking tight…”

Wanda twisted about in the bed, tangling the sheets about her half-naked body. Peter said it so vehemently that she half-expected to find Mary Jane… but no, Peter laid there alone, asleep, dreaming, his face contorting with the pleasure of his fantasy, his manhood standing tall and firm inside his tented sheets. 

The temptation of the sight hit Wanda like a tidal wave. She could simply reach out and touch it—at least pull the sheet back and look at it. She would’ve thought she’d had enough at his apartment, but no, she’d never have enough. Years from now, the memory of it would transform her again into the whore she was acting like now—and years from now, she might regret this missed opportunity. She so wanted to be his Mary Jane…

Clapping a hand over her mouth to keep any waking noise from escaping her, Wanda hurled herself off the bed and ran to the bathroom, throwing herself inside and locking the door behind her. Peter’s muttered words rang in her head—the desire she’d thought was hers, but was really for his wife. His wife!