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Peter disappeared for a month. A whole fucking month. Then the better part of the next one was spent on celebrations as he came back with some mid-level heroes from saving the world from what should’ve been an Avenger and friends level-threat involving some interdimensional thing that Felicia doesn’t even know the name of because the moment she sees he’s back she feels her throat tighten.
If she wanted to suck dick, if she desperately needed to feel the pulsing heat of a hard cock filling her mouth with the delicious salty taste of cum, she could’ve just taken any random dude to the bathroom of a bar. She could’ve gotten on her knees and sucked the sperm out of some random joker in a club while beats pulsed, his shaft beating to the rhythm of the music while it shot round after round of semen down her throat.
She could’ve gone to a sex club -hell, she has access to the Hellfire Club, for crying out loud- and have her fill of seed. It would’ve been so easy to put on an artsy mask of the kind that you see in carnivals and mount a little show with as many men as she could’ve lured with her generous breasts.
Instead, she waited for him.
Patience was a thing she’d learned paid off big time and she knew he wouldn’t dare rub one out and deprive her of all the delicious fluid that was accumulating in his balls day after day. She also knew Mary Plane would tire herself out being the center of attention, basking in the light of being Spider-Man’s best girl and all the free publicity that came with that, to the point she wouldn’t even think that maybe Peter was ought to be thanked for all this hard work with a weekend of raw sex, the selfish bitch too busy figuring out her agenda and filling it out for months with new contracts and modeling deals to remember that Peter had his needs, wants and desires.
‘Thank God she’s like that-’ Felicia mused whenever she felt extra murderous about it. ‘If she had any brains, I wouldn’t get to have my fill.’
It took effort, and a lot of personal time with a vibrator, her eyes closed and her mouth open wide as she called out his name while dreaming some fantasy or another: Them, fucking with the redhead tied up in the next room; him, cumming balls deep inside her after pinning her to the ground in a beach, the sound of the imaginary waves matching her breath as fantasy Peter mewled out his own fantasy of knocking her up; them, married with children, going at it hard and being remorselessly loud about it as they used his Aunt May’s courtesy of getting the kids out of the house to act like they were about to make the first one all over again.
She isn’t even sure she wants the damned runts. She just likes how he holds her after emptying himself inside, all the stuff he whispers into her ear while up in cloud nine -both the tender stuff like them getting hitched and becoming a boring, suburban family; and the more aggressive things like her being just another hole for him to impregnate with a child he sure as hell won’t be paying for- and how sheepish he’s about it all while Felicia tries to remember how to walk and deals with the rush of feeling herself dripping with his essence, her legs wide open as she does in case he decides to go for another round before being truly done with her for the time being.
She’s incredibly undecided about that, and hates that’s one of the many things she and that bitch have in common. She should just give him and answer, they both should, so he knows what to expect and maybe, to call it quits and find himself someone who will give him what he daydreams about.
That redheaded slag most likely will tell him that she’ll freeze up her eggs for later, that way she can just procrastinate it until the eggs aren’t viable and she gets to keep the hero, her exclusives in Vogue and her tight body, free of stretch marks and always marketable as a natural beauty.
Felicia is mildly aware she makes Mary Jane sounds like a form of gold-digger. That she’s just there for the fame and opportunities that it brings to be Spider-Man’s girl, seeing the occasional villain going after her as an opportunity to make bank with an exclusive for whoever bids higher once the dust settles.
Mary Jane does love him. Felicia knows that with all the money the redhead already has, all the people she’s met and the billionaires that would kill to make her their trophy wife, anything less and she would’ve been out into the sunset a long time ago. It’s not that she doesn’t love him, it’s just that she loves the glam he gives her more than she could ever care about anything he might want.
Ranting to herself about how the bitch has never cooked him so much as a soup keeps her mind away from the gutter, especially once he’s back in town. Felicia is Ok with being the side dish because it’s a lick to her pride that only she gives him what her truly craves for, and especially takes pride on the fact that she can make the Friendly Neighborhood hero a bad boy who cheats on his ‘adoring’ girlfriend.
She’s thought about setting him up. Of landing a few pictures of them going at it right on her lap, or making a porno starring them both in which anyone can tell it’s them, actually them, fucking each other’s brains out as he unloads time and time again inside her while she purrs, satisfaction oozing out of her every syllable as tells him how she’s not on birth control before adding she isn’t sure whether or not it was a safe day, only for him to be all too eager to see her belly grow with their baby.
It'd be so easy. His spider-sense wouldn’t warn him of the danger as his body would be too overwhelmed by his desire to notice anything other than her tits. She’d record it, make it look like it was Mary Jane who set up the cameras, then leak them to the press along with a faux-statement about him being a pig. She’d get her time in the sun as Spider-Man’s cheated love, he’d get a lot of approval from other men for scoring such a hot piece of ass like Felicia and she’d be the Ultimate Seductress: The girl who got Spider-Man to step out on his High School sweetheart.
But that’s simply too evil, things like that tend to go horribly wrong in unpredictable ways… and she still has to figure out if she actually likes him or just likes sucking a cock as fat and as long as his while he just sits there and let’s her take her time with his shaft. No pushing her head down, no thrusting his hips upwards, no bravado, no mention of what she’s into in their casual conversation. Nothing.
Just her, on her knees, her taste buds flaring as they’re treated to the exquisite delicacy that is the taste of his dry cock, inch after inch after glorious inch slowly making its way inside her mouth until the head is pushing at her throat, trying to get her to gag as if the reflex was a panic button and his manhood a scared victim begging to be save, only for her to fit in more inches until the entire thing is in her mouth, a part of it going down her throat, her gag reflex making for quite the masseuse, getting her throat to contract around his penis; trying and failing to get it out of there, instead making his erection harder as the contractions give him even more pleasure.
After a while of just feeling the sensations of him pulsing in her throat, his flavor revitalized in her memory, she’d move her head back slowly but surely. Her tongue would swirl and flutter around, trying to find any possible spot that didn’t get its proper share of spit polish as she retreated until only the head remained in her mouth.
Felicia loves wrapping her lips around things, be they lollypops, tongues while kissing or the head of Peter’s dick. She loves to turn her mouth into a vacuum, pushing her cheeks inwards and see the reaction on his face as the sensation reaches his brain. He tends to drop his jaw and close his eyes in this funny but cute way when it finally hits him that it’s just her tongue and his length in her mouth, saliva constantly flooding her mouth beyond capacity and making her swallow in what must feel like small teases of what she’ll do with every last drop that Peter gives her.
She doesn’t tease when getting down and dirty. Teasing is for foreplay and the occasional time to use her cleavage and her brains to get out of something or distracting someone. Once she’s on her knees, the playful banter ends and Felicia’s only concern is making sure every taste bud in her mouth gets a good taste of Peter Parker’s exquisite taste, something she sees to with unique attention to detail.
She’d suck the head a bit, like a baby with a pacifier, she’d tug and pull before slowly going back in again, every inch slowly going deeper and deeper inside her in the way that pleases the burglar the most. This time, things would go a bit faster, the way paved by the previous motion.
While she’d increase the tempo, she would not rush to get it all back inside her mouth because there’s this unique taste to Peter’s dick after Felicia’s done her first round of cocksucking that the beauty simply has to relish on after so long without him. She reckons she could also use a bit of a reminder of how big he gets when he’s enjoying himself and all of his blood rushes to his erection to make it as solid as steel and as warm as a furnace.
She’d dive until her nose touched the area above the root of his length with the lightest of taps and then she’d close her eyes and run her tongue all over it, mapping out every detail with her tongue. Every vein, every rugged spot, every last bit of flesh in her mouth. She knows his weak spots but there’s no harm in taking her time and explore every crevasse to make absolutely sure she hasn’t forgotten the pattern of the veins that pop out whenever he’s hard
He’d just sit there, fists curled tight into fists, gripping the armrests of the chair he’d be sitting on while focusing on not letting go too soon, his mental capacity brought to its limits by what she and only she gives him. He wouldn’t twitch, moan or even dare to gasp for air. He knows that this is her moment and in her moment all that exists for her is his cock and to her, any noise he’d make would be interrupting her concentration and dedication to have her fill sated. It might be selfish, but it’s the truth: She doesn’t care much for his pleasure, preferring to put her mind to make sure she does everything that makes her feel good, makes her feel the particular rush that only doing this gives her, him being a godsend because he never demands it, expects it or mentions it but seems always ready to have his cock polished like only she can.
His big cock that reaches all the way to the back of her throat, so thick that Felicia’s jaw is put to the test every time she takes it in her mouth, rugged and veiny in just the right way that, as her tongue runs all over it, the veins and other details making for grooves that let Felicia know where she is, how far she still has to take into her mouth or how close is Peter to becoming undone.
In a stereotype that she hates to her very core, she becomes a slut in these moments. She cares only for being on her knees sucking every last drop out of him. It feels oddly natural to her: To just be there, her head bobbing up and down while she makes all sorts of wet noises as his flesh goes ever deeper into her mouth, his taste growing ever more diluted by all the saliva she lets loose the moment the head of his dick goes past her lips.
Peter, ever true to his kind nature, would always be happy to see her let loose -and not because Felicia has the greatest head game to ever be held by anyone-. Just like she’s into his thing that gets tended to every time that they have sex without a condom, they just fit that well in these sorts of moments. They’re not using each other to get their rocks off, but rather, they’re each other’s fantasy come true: His, a woman that he can fill with his seed and openly hope that it grows in her womb; hers, a man that she can do what she wishes to without it ever being a thing that is either mentioned or thought of. Not beyond ‘The thing Felicia’s into.’
She can just do what she likes, kneeling on a pillow or the hard, cold floor. It makes no difference. All she needs is his penis in her mouth, its unique traits filling her brain with a set of sensations that in turn make Felicia’s senses flare to life and fill them with pleasure beyond what other things do. Sucking cock feels better than the most expensive experiences money can buy, his semen filling her mouth is more delightful than the finest delicacy imaginable, the sensation of his dick pulsing in her mouth as it releases spurt after spurt of delicious sperm, more exciting than the most dangerous of heists.
Peter’s manhood is so large that she can use both hands and thick enough she can just barely wrap each of her hands around it without having to tighten her grip for her four fingers to meet with her thumb as she clasps his warm flesh, her hold twisting and twirling over his erection while her mouth caresses and plays with the head.
Even as his hold on his release started to slip, he would not let out a sound, Felicia’s only warning for what’s about to happen being the way his taste in her mouth would start to change as he released precum, the substance making her mouth feel saltier and kicking off deep, dark instincts in Felicia that would brand her a whore with anyone else but him: She’d moan loudly, as if she was about to have an orgasm, the mere thought of sperm in her mouth exciting her enough to leave the sensations of her own release in the dust. She’d speed up the tempo of her ministrations while the vibrations of her groaning would add to the delicious feelings that her tongue, lips and hands give the man who’s manhood the burglar is fond of slurping.
Then, he’d just release. No twitching, no pushing, no thrusting. He’d just let out a loud sigh or a series of them, and with each and every one of them, he’d flood her mouth with his semen. Some of it would automatically go straight down her gullet, his dick so far up inside her throat that he’d pretty much shoot his release down into her stomach. Most of it, however, would pool in her mouth, impregnating every taste bud in her mouth with the unique delicacy of his semen as much as her mind could handle, the thick consistency of his sperm giving her tongue something to fiddle with in the form of rivulets consistent enough for them to be strings of the white fluid that she’d feel swirl around as her head became full of ectasis and her brain added to that its own chemical prizes, leaving her a satisfied woman that knew nothing but the feeling of her mouth overflowing with Spider-Man’s tasty produce.
She’d have to swallow some of it to make room, she often has to. Peter releases a lot, especially because of how much and how well Felicia works for it. His balls go into overdrive, as if trying to please her instead of just fulfilling their natural function. It has the benefit that Peter feels the swallowing motion as a massage that makes him release even more, almost always leaving but a small drop inside his penis that Felicia has to squeeze out.
Felicia, for her part, would just be there: Her mouth full of cum, the air in the room impregnated with the sweat and natural smell of passion let loose that is often associated with sex, but that can be brought forth when enough fervor is put to deeds like this. Even on her knees, she always feels like she’s up above in a far-off land where there is nothing but the most exquisite of sensations, the one in her mouth expanding until all of her body is shinning with pleasure and massaged by a glorious, relaxing sensation of peace of the kind that usually arrives to most people’s mind after a hard task is finally over.
She’d come back to her senses sometime later and she’d see him staring at her, his eyes out of focus due to the blood rush as his heart beat pumped frenetically in order to aid with his orgasm. She’d smile, open her mouth to show him what’s she’s been able to hold on to, and then she’d swallow it in two or three gulps to explain to him just how much he gives her. She could swallow it in one go if she tried, but there’s no fun in that, and something as ludicrously tasty as Peter’s semen has to be thoroughly enjoyed as it is consumed.
Felicia catches herself daydreaming about this from where she sits, watching the news of his return and her heart is in her throat, her breathing ragged and her thong has gotten soaking wet. Before she knows what’s happening, her left hand is fumbling with her underwear while her right one is pulling out her phone, bringing up the camera and pressing record as the burglar’s left hand finds her clitoris, both of them shaking uncontrollably.
She masturbates reliving the fantasy three times before she remembers she was recording but is still thankful for her foresight. Not much can be seen, but everything can be heard, and there’s no way in hell that Spider-Man will not understand who’s the Peter that the burglar keeps calling for as she moans, groans and screams while wet sounds can be heard in an umistakable rhythm.
She sends him the video with a simple text that, while a bit cryptic, is something he’ll understand once he hits the play button:
‘I’m just your bad-girl ex-girlfriend, so what does it matter? I think we’ve gone deeper than that, haven’t we? I think we owe each other a little more respect than that, don’t we? A phone call, an e-mail. Would that have killed you?’
It takes him half an hour to swing by and, an hour later, Felicia finds out that daydreams do come true, down to the last sensation.