In Every World, In Every Story update

Neither Scott nor Emma spoke as they took the elevator down from Karla’s combined office and apartment. But Emma had her arms tightly interlaced with Scott’s, her head gravitating to his shoulder, a kind of comforting electric charge running through her. And she didn’t need her powers to know Scott felt the same way. She just needed to have been married to him for fifteen years.
Suddenly, it felt like a lot less.

The elevator stopped, picked up a few passengers, started again, stopped again, left off all but Scott and Emma. The doors closed once more. Another lurch of motion. It only seemed to drive Emma further into Scott.

Now he was thinking of the woman who’d gotten onboard the elevator. The redhead.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to fuck a ginger,” Scott said.

Emma thought about this. Liked the thought.

“I’ve always wanted you to help me dominate a bitch.”

“That’s not a very nice way to refer to them.”

“Fine, they’re a sex worker, but when you’re dominating them, they’re a bitch.”

“Makes sense.”

She had to give it to Karla. The woman was one hell of a relationship counselor.

The cunt.

The elevator stopped again, just as Emma was wondering if, when she called the agency, she should ask for a natural redhead or a shapeshifter. Wouldn’t he be surprised, asking for a redhead and getting Red Sonja ‘in the flesh…’

Then the doors opened and Emma saw Layla Miller.

“Remember,” Layla said.

***

Gwen knew Peter was looking at her when she had her back on him. She could feel his eyes on her body. Yet he was cold toward her, or if not cold, then distant. She didn’t know why. Was it shyness, embarrassment? He hung about the house with her, almost protectively, but he disappeared often during the day. She thought he was masturbating, and didn’t know why he would do that when she was available to him.

Peter wanted her: she saw it in his eyes, the way he looked at her. Yet whenever she glanced in his direction, he would lower his eyes, a faint flush across his face. After a few days of this, she dressed in a set of tight white shorts paired with a small halter. Her long, creamy legs were exposed by the high hem of the shorts, with the crescent-moon swells of her ass glimpsed with every jogging step. Her nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her halter, showing her interest, while the waist of her shorts was low on her hips, showing the dimple of her belly button amidst a calm sea of flattened stomach.

She felt very lewd just wearing such a thing, but was still shy about inviting Peter’s gaze. She had to almost force herself to parade around Peter, leaning over to display her ass. She had never acted so slutty before, and it embarrassed her, even if they were married.

Still, Peter only looked at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice, like a high school boy with a crush. It would amuse her if she weren’t so desperate for him. She was doing everything but grabbing his cock, yet they spent the week in nervous yearning, never making a move toward the other. In the evening, they sat watching Netflix, chilling. They eyes caught and locked as the movie failed to hold their attention. Gwen could see Peter’s desire for her. Peter could see Gwen’s. Neither of them said anything.

Gwen lowered her gaze to Peter’s crotch. She saw his cock swell inside his pants. He crossed his legs. Gwen drew her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. She knew what a good view of her crotch it gave Peter. He looked at her with fire in his eyes. And stayed in his chair.

Finally, frustrated, Gwen got to her feet. “I’m going to bed.”

***

Gwen went through her bedroom, undressing with casual speed. Her bra and panties were serviceable, a plain white, not the frilly stuff she’d worn to entice Peter. On some level, she didn’t want to bother with that. At the moment, nothing could seem more like a waste of time.

She wondered once more what the hell was wrong with Peter. Hadn’t the last time been good? Hadn’t she given him everything, done everything? Yet now he seemed afraid to ask for more, no matter how wantonly it was offered.

Maybe she should just walk around naked. Maybe he would do something then.

She sat down at her work desk, balancing primly on the edge of her chair to take off her shoes. As she slipped her feet free, stretching her toes into the carpet, she logged into her computer and checked her e-mail. One was from Mary Jane, who was friendly, but rarely contacted her, at least over the internet. She struck Gwen as something of a neophyte when it came to technology.

And something else struck her. She remembered something from last week, a dream she’d had before waking up on the floor with a headache like she’d never felt before. A sense of… understanding she got from Mary Jane. Gwen opened up the messages. She was reaching around her back and had just unhooked her bra when the file opened. Then, Gwen gasped.

Her disconnected bra hook slipped from her nerveless fingers, running down her back. She was suddenly watching something impossible—a man’s phallus, working back and forth into a woman’s… well, womanhood!

She starred in disbelief, feeling the muscles of her stomach grow tight, her thighs drawing themselves together almost protectively. The penis looked so large, the woman’s labia seemed so wide, accommodating it… there was sound too… a wet noise, a slapping of flesh upon flesh, womanly groans, masculine grunts…

Gwen had never seen anything like it. She’d never even looked closely at Peter’s member, always turned off the lights when they… Gwen tried to force herself up from the chair, to turn off the horrible images, but her body refused to work. She was stunned.

The camera dollyed back and she could see them in full. The woman she didn’t recognize, but she was beautiful, even elegant. Gwen was amazed that such a seemingly classy woman would allow herself to be filmed doing this, although there was something perverted as well in the way the woman squirmed and heaved, moaning deeply, as if overly enjoying the brutal thrusting taking place between her leads.

But the man… the man was Peter. And Gwen’s mind simply couldn’t process that. The images played over her like it wasn’t even Gwen watching, it was someone else, someone who watched this sort of thing watching a man who did this sort of thing, not Peter, never Peter…

The woman called out shamelessly. She was coming, coming, and the camera zoomed in tight on her penetration, showing the man’s scrotum bunching convulsively as he also reached climax. Gwen hadn’t known it did that. The nipples of her breasts had tightened into hard little nubs.

The cock withdrew, slowly oozing with creamy seed, the shaft red and swollen. Gwen gripped her thighs, the flesh seeming especially soft as her fingernails dug into it. Then she gasped, a breathy little explosion from a desolate throat, as a smiling mouth of red lips and pink tongue drew up on the cock. The tongue lapped at the girthy rod, the thick cream, drawing it into the smiling mouth. And the smile widened.

The shameless bitch was actually taking the cockhead (Peter’s) into her mouth, catching it tight between her lips and sucking the cum (Peter’s) off of it. Gwen could see the woman’s throat working, see her cheeks dart inward. She didn’t know how someone could stand even the idea of doing that. How could she stand the taste? It couldn’t be that such a thing tasted… good?

The camera jerked back. The close-up had been bad enough, but now Gwen saw everything. How he (Peter) stroked the woman’s long, blonde hair, how his hips drove himself into her face, how they groaned together… his taut face, her fingers on his balls, and on her own vulva as well. “Is she going to—touch herself?” Gwen asked aloud.

Then it happened. Gwen watched the finger push at the tight labia, fondling the cum-ridden lips before slipping inside. She was masturbating, fucking her hand even as she sucked lustily on the cock she’d taken into her mouth. And Gwen trembled as she realized that she, too, was caressing herself. Pulsating like the woman in the video surely was.

Gwen held her wayward hand there. As if she was containing the throbbing that pushed so hard against her palm.

The camera zoomed in on the woman’s masturbation. The motion of the finger entranced Gwen, intrigued her, and she quivered as she watched the small, delicate movements it made across the tender mound. She’d always thought of this as debasing—not just being filmed, but the act itself, yet the woman (Peter’s lover) was enjoying it so unabashedly…

Gwen sat bolt upright in her chair. Her fingertip had slipped all too easily inside, touched something that flashed electric heat throughout her body. It’d been so curious, so different. She sought it again, her finger going deeper and deeper. On the screen, the other woman’s finger was moving swiftly now. Blurring.

The movie cut with shocking speed to the man’s cock, his clenched balls, the woman’s mouth opening wide as he shot. With explosive suddenness, Gwen was watching Peter coming into the woman’s mouth, upon her face, a flood of seed drenching her lips both inside and out. Thick and pearly, the cum spurted as far back as the woman’s throat, as high as her hair, and what she caught, she swallowed down, her tongue flashing over the cum inside her wide-spread, receptive mouth. “Peter,” Gwen moaned gently.

She was drinking it, Gwen thought dazedly. The woman, so lovely, so elegant, was gulping down a man’s semen and acting as if it were the most delicious drink in the world. Gwen trembled upon her finger. It felt better than ever, now.

As it had to for the woman, the blonde woman. Gwen could see her thighs contracting beautifully as she accepted her finger—no, two fingers—rotating her pelvis, pumping her cunt with the same hungry motions the man had stimulated in her only a minute before. She was just as turned on, just as satisfied, and Gwen found herself almost matching the woman’s frenzy, rocking her hips in unaccustomed movements that soon reached a smoothness, a fluidity—an ecstasy.

Gwen ground sinuously upon her fingers, cupping the others over her pubic mound, pushing her long legs out in front of her. She practically lifted herself from her seat as she thrust and recoiled, stroked and pulled back. It was so different, Gwen didn’t know if she could call it good, but it was exciting, and new, and that seemed like the same thing. Like exactly the same thing. The different feeling built—a weird pressure in her groin. It was sweet, now. Devilishly sweet. She felt so sinful for doing it, almost guilty. But this, this naughtiness felt so much better than shame…

Heat spread within her, a bright little ember at her clitoris, solid and real at the center of her passion, when she had long thought it was ephemeral. Her eyes fixed hypnotically on the computer screen. Then—oh God—the video started to play again.

Gwen bucked in the throes of orgasm, biting her lip, producing sounds she couldn’t recognize, her head rolling limply from side to side as she reached the crest of a mighty wave. And then it came crashing down.

At last. The thought was a white-hot flame in Gwen’s mind. She didn’t know what she’d been waiting for, what this was, but she knew she’d needed it and she knew it was here at last. It was a marvelous release, a soulful experience that loosened her entire body, fired all the nerves that had been awaiting this rapture. She held her finger deep within her flexing womanhood, shuddering in the swirling power of her climax, eyes closed and open, open and closed. Again and again, as if in a repeating dream, she watched Peter come, inside the woman, upon her face, his cum slopping down to her breasts… Gwen felt like it was going to happen again. Like she’d started something that was only just beginning.

“I see you got my message,” someone said. It didn’t come from the computer.

Gwen jerked her head around and suddenly wanted to die. Mary Jane was there—butler must’ve let her in. And she was staring down at where Gwen’s fingers were still in urgent contact with the wet lips of her sex. There could be no mistake about what had happened. What was happening.

Mary Jane closed the bedroom door behind her.

***

“I need your help.”

Lily had preened a little when Peter called her, even knowing it was a regular phone call and not a hologram. Now, hearing him say that to her… she let out a light moan.

It’d been five days since her encounter with Mary Jane. She knew it was all one big arrangement, him and Mary Jane and Gwen, and expected any day now to get her shot at Stacy. But hearing that the Green Goblin was needed, that was even better. Better than boys, better than girls, better than sex.

“Mmmm… which of those dirty little mutants are we going to take down first?”

“Not a mutant,” Peter said. “At least, I don’t think so. Her name’s Karla Sofen and she has some kind of power…”

“A human? I didn’t make this suit to take on humans, Peter.”

“I know, I know,” Peter cut her off. “But if we don’t do something about this, there’s not going to be any Spider-Man to team up with the Green Goblin.”

Lily hissed through her teeth slightly. “What’d she do? Did she hurt you?”

“No. Not exactly. The video, the one that’s been making the rounds online? That’s her.”

“Her that released it or her in the video?”

“Both.”

Lily pinched her lips in dismay. The bitch. Getting frisky with her man…

“The video was downgraded,” Peter continued. “There’s still some doubt as to the authenticity, and that gives me deniability, but if she releases the entire file…”

“What do you need?”

“She’s powerful. I think she has some form of mind control. I’m going to confront her, and if you see her working any sort of voodoo on me, you blast her, got it?”

“And then, after that, we’ll party?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Lily clenched. “Just you and me and Mary Jane…”

“Yes… and who?”

***

Peter filled Lily in. With Rhino’s help, he’d reached out to some of the old rogues, finally gotten a whiff of things on the dark side. Karla Sofen was a small-time aficionado of drugs, guns, imported porn—general naughtiness. Nothing excessive enough to put her on a radar, but now he knew—the party he was hoping to use as cover was an orgy.

Of course, Peter worried. Just one photograph of him there and he’d be ruined. He’d been squeaky-clean for so long that this would be blood in the water. No stone would be left unturned. Something would lead to Lily, Mary Jane, all of it. But he had no other recourse and no ready answers. In fact, he found it hard to understand any of what had been going on in the last week.

Karla herself also bothered him. Previously, he hadn’t known her from Adam. Now every time he heard her name, someone was screwing him, or her, or both of them. And if nobody else was around, they’d do each other.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, it was just that he didn’t understand it. It was like there was some other part of him that he’d never been aware of, and somehow Karla brought it out. He didn’t know what it was, but he wanted it gone. Didn’t he? Back to normal with Gwen…

Yeah, that sounded pretty good right about now. He would still be friends with Mary Jane. Close friends.

He picked Lily up. She wore something more appropriate to a church formal than a party, especially a sex party, and Peter felt an odd wave of affection for her—the sick humor of wearing a soft pink gown on some depraved adventure. She really wasn’t a bad sort, he figured. Mary Jane had told him about her wild child days between takes—people had thought her shallow, slutty, but she’d just been trying to figure things out. And Harry was a tough guy to be a friend too; Peter couldn’t imagine dating the guy. Having Hollister for a father, Norman Osborn as a potential father-in-law. Hell, she might’ve had better reasons to dress up in spandex than he did.

“You’ve got your stuff?” he asked her.

She held up a gunnysack. “New costume. Can’t wait for you to see me in it. Or out of it.”

Peter actually smiled back at her. What was wrong with him? Bad enough he was thinking about MJ that way, Karla that way, but now Lily? What was the problem with Gwen? Why couldn’t she be enough for him?

“Stash it in the trunk,” he said, wiping his face. “I put some more Oscorp equipment in there too. For when you’re ready.”

“Mmm!” Lily moaned approvingly. “Level up! Do all the toys have your personal guarantee?”

“I tinkered a little. But my lab days are way behind me.”

“Too bad. The brain is the largest sexual organ in the body…”

***

Pulling into the car park, Peter saw Jennifer Walters’s car, which he imagined meant Matt Murdock was there too. Peter thought of Matt’s charming smile and imagined he could have his pick of the women there. And maybe She-Hulk would finally be satisfied, able to call up three men at a time like batters at a baseball game.

She was probably bobbing up and down on some big cock right that second, her dark hair flying across her face, those huge breasts bouncing up and down…

Peter chided himself as a flicker of interest went through his cock, stiffening into the crotch of his pants. If he couldn’t even control his imagination, no way he could restrain himself at the party. He exchanged a look with Lily, who of course had noticed, but she just gave a curt nod.

“Business before pleasure, boss.”

The last word of that sentence sent another flicker through him.

***

At the intercom, Peter buzzed once, twice, three times before Karla answered. “Yes?”

“Heard you were throwing a party.”

“Oh, Mr. Parker, so glad you could make it. Brought anyone… fun?”

Peter goosed Lily, her semi-delighted squeal picked up by the intercom.

“Wonderful,” Karla said. “Come find me when you’re up. I’ve love to catch up on old times.”

She buzzed them up. Private elevator to an antechamber, boring and spartan. Peter knocked at a heavy oak door. He couldn’t hear any noise inside. He knocked again. No one answered.

“Last chance to back out,” Peter told Lily—his version of idle conversation.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Just thought you might have second… thoughts. If we get seen at this place, if something goes wrong—it could reflect very badly on you.”

“Why do you think I’m looking forward to it?” she asked. Smiled. “Should make for an interesting evening, right?”

Peter had to agree. He knocked some more.

Finally, a beautiful, boisterous blonde answered the door. “You must be Peter,” she said, glancing significantly downward.

Carol fucking Danvers. Goddamn mutant hero. Only she wasn’t even wearing something as modest as her costume, but a halter top that let her breasts nearly run free, her ass only covered by silk panties.

The others were all similarly shapely, some scantily-clad, some dressed more moderately, all pleasant enough. As Peter stepped inside, he felt an arm come out of the darkness and grab his elbow. Despite the lack of a spider-sense warning, he jumped—managed a weak laugh when he saw it was Natasha Romanoff.

“What are you so afraid of, world champion?” she asked him.

“Maneaters. I heard this part of the world is infested with them.”

“We’re more omnivorous around here. Who’s your friend? She’s cute.”

“Lily,” his cute friend said, offering her hand. Natasha took it and kissed it suavely.

“Hope you’re not as scared as the spider. There’s nothing to be worried about here. Except exhaustion.”

“That doesn’t seem like a going concern,” Peter replied. “Doesn’t seem to be anyone getting fucked to death—“

“Which is what we expected,” Lily added.

“I know. It sucks. But these things take time. Look. There’s Johnny Storm taking off his shirt. The man’s a slut. The rest will take a little more drink, but in a few minutes we’ll have our own little dick-measuring contest going on. And we’ll see who’ll be able to resist that.”

Carol embraced Natasha from behind. “Not me.” She kissed Natasha’s neck, unzipped the side of her dress…

“That reminds me,” Peter said quickly, “where’s Karla?”

“The founder of the feast? Oh, don’t worry about her, Pete. I’m sure she can take care of yourself. And trying to get with someone in particular kills the fun. Just…”

“Catch as catch can,” Carol finished, before making continued conversation impossible.

Peter stepped over them as the two rolled over on the floor. He spotted Matt Murdock at last. He was one of two men holding up Elektra Natchios’s legs as She-Hulk…

Peter refused to watch. He stepped briskly through the party, ignoring the occasional hand that pawed at his clothes, trying to expose him, desperate to find Karla before the festivities were underway…

***

Peter went back to the antechamber, patting Lily in passing as he went. She was watching Elektra, but gave him an acknowledging nod.

The hallway from the elevator forked, a small tributary leading to the door to the office. Peter tried it. He wasn’t surprised that it was open. Inside, the waiting room was much as it had been before, only the receptionist was different. She had bright green eyes set in a beautiful face, a sculpted nose, slender and intriguing lips. Her thick mane was platinum blonde and she had broad shoulders for a woman, matching her powerful body. Along the soft curves of her muscles, there were shapely breasts, a flat belly, and a glossy jewel of a navel above another helping of white hair.

She was naked, her breasts idly hidden by her hair, the rest behind her desk, though long legs sprawled out through the opening in the middle. Peter stared, unable to help himself around the beautiful, displayed woman.

“The doctor will see you now,” Felicia said, and Peter snapped out of it. He went to the door half-hard and let himself into the office.

Karla wore a doctor’s coat, closed over her chest, and nothing else. Her long, bare legs extended below the hem of the coat, the shadow of her pubis visibly through the semi-translucent fabric. Peter found himself staring.

She walked past him, saying nothing, but the half-moons of her ass obvious below the sweeping hemline. She closed the door behind Peter.

“You seem tired.” She turned around, a knowing smile on her face. “Have you been up late, Peter?”

Whatever face Peter made, it made Karla laugh. She moved to stand in front of him, and when she put her hand on his chest, Peter let her. He also let her slowly, teasingly, slide her palm down to his thigh.

Her voice was thick. “Have you been using your cock like I showed you?”

“I want the recordings,” Peter said. “All of them.”

“Oh, Peter!” Karla laughed. “I wish I could promise you that, but surely a man of your intelligence knows there’s no way for me to guarantee you have all of them. I could always have some on a USB drive under my pillow…”

“I’m a tech billionaire, Sofen. I’ll know.”

“Is that so?”

Peter fixed her with a challenging glare. “The metadata on every data file since 1983 is encoded with special directives from a technopath mutant at the behest of the House of M. It records exactly how many times the data has been recorded, replayed, and copied. And I know the code. You show me your system and I’ll know if I have all the recordings. What’s the matter? Didn’t they teach you about that in med school?”

Karla paused a moment—poker face as she figured out how to respond. Then, of course, she smiled. “If you want to see what I’ve got, Peter, all you had to do is ask.”

She walked to her desk, unbuttoning her coat as she went. When she sat down in the chair, turning around, it hung open between her breasts, letting him see their curving slopes, the beaded sweat from the hollow of her throat to down below her belly…

She opened up her computer, the laptop-like screen built into the surface of her desk, the keyboard hidden underneath it. Peter walked around the desk with her, pointedly ignoring her bare thighs as he crouched down beside her.

On the screen, there was a closed circuit television view of the waiting room. Felicia was sitting with her head back, eyes closed, her expression dreamy as she fondled her breasts. Everything was visible. Peter remembered a mirror on the wall; there had to be a camera hidden behind it.

“That’s how I know what goes on around here. It makes it easy for me to know who I can play with and who I can’t. My receptionists are a big help there. They’ll bend over, flash some leg, and if the patient is interested… and especially if they get a nice hard-on…”

“So show me what you recorded the other day.”

“And if I do?” Karla asked, uncrossing her legs, crossing them the other way, pink flashing into view. “What’s it worth to you?”

“I’m not going to fuck you, Sofen.”

“Then why should I care?”

Peter rested his hand on Karla’s shoulder. Squeezed it just hard enough to hurt.

He hadn’t wanted this. Didn’t want this. But he had to do something.

It wasn’t like he would really hurt her. But someone as sick and twisted as Karla would assume he would, which was fine for his purposes.

Peter was still thinking this when Karla punched him across the room.