S+C+R preview

Peter watched as Mary Jane turned the stereo on, flipping the volume dial until rock music was blasting at a raucous level. “You didn’t get enough dancing at the reception?”

“That was a kidnapping. This is our reception.” Mary Jane kicked a throw rug aside. “Ana, go put the Glenlivet on ice. Here, we dance like nobody’s watching…”

She gave Peter a shove, sitting him down in a chair, and his eyes bugged out as he watched Mary Jane dance. Swinging her hips, shaking her trim ass, cupping her breasts in her hands and offering them up to her appreciative audience.

Mary Jane had always been a good dancer, and with a rapt audience, she was even better. The wild beat of the music pounded through her, seeming to jerk her around with its strums and chords, fuck her in time to the music.

The hard-driving rhythm made her blood race, and she could feel that heat rushing downward into her sex, turning her on beyond belief. Seeing her husband’s excited eyes on her just turned her on more as she danced for his benefit, abandoned all the limits she set on herself in clubs and boudoir shoots to show that she gave herself to him, body and soul.

She danced closer and closer to where Peter sat, his mouth gaping open slackly as he watched her. MJ glanced down at his crotch and saw that he had a hard-on jutting out against the fabric of his pants. When she looked over at Felicia, the cat burglar was already staring at it.

“Wow, Mary Jane,” Peter gasped, his voice thick with lust.

Mary Jane grinned, pleased by his reaction. She threw her arms up high over her head, lifting her huge breasts, thrusting them outward into the veil that hung over her. Her stiff nipples bored into the thin fabric of her tight bra. Her tits bounced wildly as she jerked her hips, twisted her shoulders, shook her ass in an obscene bellydance. She knew that she had Peter’s undivided attention and that he was growing more and more aroused.

She whirled about the room with fast, frenzied movements, stretching and twisting her young body into the most seductive poses she could think of. She watched Peter’s erection grow thicker, longer. Then she turned her attention to Felicia, sitting beside Peter, her fingers deadlocked on her own knees. Too captivated even to reach over and fondle Peter, as Mary Jane had on occasions when Felicia had put on performances for the two of them.

Mary Jane danced up close to the cat burglar and deliberately pivoted to her, bending at the waist and sweeping her upper body from right to left, giving Felicia a view straight into her cleavage. Then she laughed and danced away; even Felicia’s face reddened.

The redhead was growing more and more aroused. She continued to dance wantonly to the heavy, erotic beat being driven into her reeling brain. She felt as if her entire body was now throbbing with the pulsing rhythm of the music. Her skin broke out in goosebumps. Her breasts swelled. Her clit was hard and begging for attention.

Mary Jane gyrated more and more wildly to the pounding beat, tanging her hands in her veil and pulling it taut against her body in places where she thrust against it, pressing her breasts through the fabric, her ass, pulling the veil so sheer that it seemed obscene for there to be another layer of fabric underneath it, her bra, her panties, denying that last little fraction of an inch that would reveal her body.

Her flesh flushed and shone with a sexual glow. She felt as if she were surrendering completely to the music, as she might surrender to a lover, as she would give herself to Peter so very soon. The steady driving beat had taken over her body, and her pussy pulsed with the arousal of being caressed by it.

Again, she raised her arms high overhead, this time pulling the veil up off her thighs, her sleek panties, her taut belly—showing them the damp arousal that darkened the crotch of her panties. She began to undulate her flat stomach toward Peter. She saw him lick his lips, glanced again at his crotch and saw that it was almost splitting the seam of his pants.

Mary Jane’s head jerked, whipping her long hair about her shoulders. Underneath the veil, her hands shot up over her breasts, then down to her thighs, pushed into the pounding pressure at her groin to give her an instant’s relief as she wriggled her trim little ass in Peter’s direction.

She straightened again. Her tits jiggled lewdly as she moved, one shoulder strap having fallen from her arm, her nipples poking insistently against the cups of her bra. Her hips pistoned back and forth as she undulated toward Felicia, now focusing all her sexuality on her.

Felicia was leaning forward in her chair with an almost Zen-like centricity, and Mary Jane giggled. It looked as if Felicia were reminding herself that her present condition made it impossible to leap up and attack MJ as she so desperately wished to.

“You look beautiful when you dance like that,” Peter groaned, seeming to speak for Felicia as she zoned out with sexual frustration.

Mary Jane glanced at him and saw that he was staring hard at her tits, nearly drooling. She moaned and whimpered slightly as she continued to dance for him, and his gaze shifted to her ass. She arched her back, twisting and turning, thrusting her breasts out to the primitive beat which seemed to hold her body and her mind. Satisfyingly, Peter’s eyes were drawn back to her breasts as she shook them for her audience.

With her back fully arched, her face turned toward her husband, Mary Jane jerked her arms behind her back, crossing her wrists as if they were bound. Then she worked her shoulders in small circles. She felt her tits roll upward and outwards, pushing against the front of her bra, and the second shoulder strap slipped loose.

“God, Mary Jane!” Felicia cried, her eyes widening. She gulped hard, staring right at her wife’s tits. Mary Jane’s rigid nipples were almost in view, her areolas blooming in the dark space between her lapsing bra and her shadowed flesh. Felicia’s clit buzzed between her legs.

Mary Jane’s blood boiled hotly inside her. Her cunt was sopping wet, the front of her panties a damp shadow. Facing Felicia, she gave her dancing everything she had, jerking, stretching, twisting, pumping her loins back and forth as if fucking Felicia, being fucked by her.

She boldly moved her hands up over her belly, to the full swelling of her breasts. She lifted them upward and out toward her lovers. Her shoulders moved sensuously from side to side, swaying with the motion of her body. She seemed about to finally, irrevocably pull the bra away from her flesh, but instead she gripped her veil and ripped it from her head. With even that minor imperfection no longer shadowing her body, her appearance came as a shock. Her eyes were glazed over with lust and both of them could smell the heady aroma of her arousal, soaking through her panties.

“Jesus Christ!” Peter cried, his eyes looking as if they were about to pop right out of their sockets.

Now Mary Jane gripped the bottom of her bra and pulled it upward, bringing the soft slopes beneath her nipples fully into view.

“God, yes, Mary Jane!” Felicia groaned. “Take it off! Show us!”

Her wife’s words thrilled Mary Jane, turning her on even more. Felicia was being driven into paroxysms of lust, a masturbatory frenzy, just by the hint of what she’d seen countless times before.

She wanted Peter feeling the same way. “Are you sure?” Mary Jane panted. “Do you really think my boobs are good enough to be in the same room as the Black Cat?”

She looked Peter straight in the eye as she slowly raised the bra higher, showing him more of her cleavage. Her knuckles pressed hard against her swollen nipples, making them jut out all the more.

“You’ve got to take it off,” Peter said frantically, as if he were discussing desperately important superhero business. “You’ve got to take it off now.”

“But you didn’t say please, Peter. You should be more polite when you ask for things,” Mary Jane teased with a grin.

“Oh, God, Red—do you realize what you’re doing to me?” Felicia groaned. She had never been this turned on before, not in all her life.

“Please, Mary Jane,” Peter said, with the same frenetic calm that MJ supposed came with being a neurotic in a crisis situation every week. “Please take your bra off.”

“That’s better,” Mary Jane said, smiling at her husband. She tore her bra off and threw it to Felicia. The Black Cat caught it easily, groaning as she felt its warmth from Mary Jane’s skin. “Come here, tiger. Let’s dance.”