Black Out

Spider-Gwen

Gwen’s phone buzzed at her hip. In a sense, it should’ve been a surprise—she didn’t know anyone in this universe, where Peter Parker was Spider-Man and none of the four Spider-Women were her. But it was equipped with tech that could inform her of dimensional anomalies. Quitting her web-swinging, Gwen came down on a rooftop and drew out her phone from one of the hidden pouches in her ‘Ghost Spider’ costume. It struck her as a stupid name—Miles was the one who turned invisible, shouldn’t he be Ghost Spider?—but it wasn’t like she could go around calling herself Spider-Gwen or something…
 
In a rush, weblines shot out, catching her wrists and jerking her down to the ground. Her phone spun in the air until a webline caught it and yanked it away. It would take Gwen a bare moment to get her bearings after the surprise attack; she didn’t get that time. Webbing slapped down on her wrists and ankles, locking them against the rooftop. Then another webline hit her face. When it was pulled back, her mask was drawn off.
 
“Too slow,” Peter said. She recognized the voice, but not the man. He was in a black costume, its only resemblance to the old one the spider insignia that was still on his chest, only now it was white. And he looked more muscular, his chest broad and powerful underneath the strange texture of the black, his arms thick, even his neck more solid.
 
His mask withdrew, drawing back into his costume like quicksilver. That finally convinced Gwen it was him. She’d know the face of this universe’s Spider-Man anywhere. “And you weren’t minding your surroundings. You’re lucky I’m just your friendly neighborhood Spider-mentor, out for some good clean sparring. Otherwise you might be in trouble.”
 
“Yeah. Uh-huh,” Gwen agreed—she didn’t remember Parker being such a douche. Maybe it was roid rage. She didn’t remember him being so big either. “You mind letting me up now?”
 
“You think Green Goblin’s going to let you up because you ask nicely? C’mon, superhero: show me how you’d get out of there.”
 
Trying to keep a poker face over her swelling annoyance—the downside of having no mask was that she couldn’t give him the bitchface his Obi-Wan Kenobi act deserved—Gwen pulled at the webbing holding her down. With effort, she would be able to rip her own webs. But Peter’s resisted. She didn’t know how they were so much stronger than hers. She couldn’t even stretch them out; they were as firm as adamantium.
 
“You’re taking too long,” Peter chided her. “You think Green Goblin’s going to go take a smoke break while you get this pickle jar open? Bub, I thought you had radioactive blood.”
 
“You… did something to these!” Gwen accused him, straining with effort. She was beginning to get flustered, and the urge to snap at him was almost more than she could suppress. “Okay, you win! I’m a dead spider. Now let me out of this!”
 
“Here’s the thing, though.” Peter dropped down into a crouch and made his way, crab-like, across the rooftop to her spread-eagle body. “In real life, that mean old supervillain isn’t going to be checking his stock portfolio or cleaning up last night’s spaghetti while you think up an escape plan. No, he’ll probably be torturing you. Or, well, who knows…”
 
It wasn’t until his head was over her widespread thighs that it dawned on Gwen what he could have in mind. She cringed in sudden wariness. “Peter… Pete, what are you doing? This isn’t funny, Peter!”

 
Her terrified eyes fixed on his head as it dropped down to her crotch, smelling her right through her costume. His big hands took hold of the fabric on the insides of her thighs. Gwen gasped as the taut costume began to stretch thin. Then he ripped it open, leaving her golden-haired pussy completely bare.
 
“No, don’t do that!” Gwen pleaded. “Don’t… I, I’ll scream!”
 
Peter fixed her with a condescending look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gwendolyn… don’t you think a real supervillain would’ve gagged you by now?”
 
And he shot a splatter of webbing right over her mouth.
 
Gwen screamed into the gag, but it muffled her voice into a whisper.
 
Peter smirked at her. “How’s that escape plan coming along, rock star?”
 
His breath stirred the sparse pubic hair which provided futile protection to Gwen’s slit, pink and wet with unwanted excitement as Peter systematically demonstrated how defenseless she was. She’d thought about him as a lover, wondering idly how so many gorgeous women seemed drawn to him time and time again, from a literal supermodel to a glamorous cat burglar. But she’d never imagined she would find out in such a disgraceful way.
 
Gwen once would’ve thought she’d fight to the end to defend herself, no matter how useless it was. But now she found herself so motionless she might as well have been transfixed. Her only movement was how her eyelids fluttered as she stared at Peter, mutely begging him not to take advantage of her helpless body. With an unhurried sweep of his fingers, Peter opened up the last defense of her labia, gorging his eyes on the coral pink flesh inside her.
 
Gwen felt his eager panting against her tender, secret place. Her own breath smashed into her gag and tingled warmly on her lips. It was almost as if she was as excited as he was. Then a monstrously long, thick, almost phallic tongue emerged from his mouth—it had to be a foot-long! It slithered over her cringing sex and Gwen moaned against her gag. As much as she braced herself, it didn’t feel bad. It should’ve felt bad… it was disgusting, debasing! But it felt like when Gwen touched herself and was about to come…
 
Peter stopped, his tongue lolling out of his mouth before he slurped it back up. “Did you say something, princess?” he asked, and reached up to pinch her gag between his fingers and stretch it away from her mouth—giving her space to talk.
 
Gwen was about to read him the riot act—tell him how dirty and despicable all of this was—when suddenly, while she was distracted, his tongue shot out and forced its way into her defenseless pussy. Her stomach clenched; her whole body jerked in stunned surprise. He was inside her, tasting her, he was practically making her come!
 
Deeper and deeper, the instrument of her degradation slid through her unwilling sex. And she instinctively clenched around the invading tongue, squeezing its prodigious length fondly despite Gwen’s conscious outrage at what he was doing to her.
 
“Nnnggghhh… no… God, no!” Gwen moaned in utter humiliation, barely aware her cries were audible as Peter continued holding the gag away from her mouth. She had trouble conceiving of anything but shame as she watched herself being ravished by Peter’s strange, alien tongue. It simply could not be happening—it was like some horrible nightmare had been spliced with the feeling of her most lustful wet dream. Her cheeks burned with mortification, but she felt herself on the verge of coming every second that long wet tongue spent inside her moist sex.  “No! No, no, no!”

“No, you didn’t say anything?” Peter replied. He let go of the gag and it slapped back into place over her mouth. “Okey-dokey…”
 
Gwen’s eyes widened as his grotesquely long tongue pumped out of his mouth and went still deeper into her slit, causing more unwelcome arousal, as if he were demanding that her subjugated body give him all the pleasure it could muster.
 
She’d once proudly, even tauntingly showcased her tight ass inside skintight spandex. Now she was desperately grinding it down into the ground in a useless attempt to escape the obscene ecstasy he was giving her. Then his hands slid under her firm buttocks, denying her even that futile escape route. With his long fingers almost entirely covering the fleshy cheeks, he cupped and squeezed Gwen’s warm flesh, pulling the mounds almost apart before shoving them back together, adding to the pressure his tongue was exploiting inside of her as his lips wetly smacked against her opening.
 
Gwen could see that he was looking expectantly at her flushed face and misty eyes, and knew with a sudden clarity that he was watching her reaction, waiting to see her complete surrender to the animal instincts of pleasure and submission. That he would never see, she vowed. Already she had let herself enjoy this abuse far too much. She might be forced to let him ravage her, but she would not let him think—know?—that she relished being dominated.
 
And yet, what a small thing that seemed to be when his tongue was rasping inside of her traitorously satisfied womanhood, extracting pleasure from her with insane fervor, making her body as alien to her as his obscene tongue as it went along with every bestial urge he forced upon her. Maybe she should just give in, enjoy herself—even if she hadn’t wanted it, this was the best sex she’d ever had… could she somehow want it now?
 
His tongue mercilessly moved through the well-lubricated folds of her soaking cunt, finally withdrawing from her clinging lips and oozing its way to her erect little clitoris. Gwen gasped in shocked delight as his tongue circled around her throbbing bud, tightening like a noose and then relaxing, tightening and relaxing, until she cried out with involuntary need and thrashed her hips toward his pleasuring tongue in uncontrollable excitement.
 
His tongue came off of her again. Peter let the near-orgasmic happiness Gwen had felt die down until she was once more shamefully aware of how close she was to depravity. Then he slid his tongue back inside of her seething sex, fucking her with it, thrusting it hotly into her utterly seditious pussy. For all her powers, all her heroic accomplishments, Gwen could only whimper and mewl, an instrument being played by the tongue at work inside her.
 
Then, almost but not quite edging over ecstasy into orgasmic bliss, Gwen groaned into her gag so loudly that it sounded like she was gagging. She shut her eyes as if blocking out not just the sight of the ravishment that was bringing her so much pleasure, but all thought, all memory, any conception she’d had of how shameful it was to give in. She arched her hips up, offering her cunt to him, and Peter smiled to see that she was his now. The pure, virginal blonde was now hopelessly entrapped by her own lust, ready to do anything to satisfy it, and that meant she was willing to do whatever he asked of her.
 
That, to his line of thinking, took one item off the agenda and freed him to move on to the next.

As if on cue, the rooftop access door rattled as Mary Jane Watson shifted its unwieldy weight, finally getting it open and stepping out onto the top of the tall building that had been the scene of what might be called Gwen’s deflowering, so profound was it in comparison to the mere breaking of her hymen in months past.
 
Not that Mary Jane was aware of just how thoroughly Peter had broken Gwen. She was only aware of getting a text from Peter asking to meet with her, directing her to the rooftop as he had for any number of spider-related dates, and now coming upon Peter and a teenage version of her old friend, locked in some kind of bondage sex.
 
Peter had occasionally hinted at making love to her in such an unconventional way—with his webbing it was a natural thought—but aside from some experiments with blindfolds and gags, they’d never truly gone to the lengths of submission and dominance that lurked behind their tentative suggestions. She had not known it would look so… amazing… how could she? Spider-Gwen looked like she was near tears from the orgasmic contentment she’d found.
 
As all of this flashed through Mary Jane’s brain like a runaway eighteen-wheeler, she dropped her purse. Unerring, Peter shot out a webline to catch it.
 
“Peter…” Mary Jane said in an odd little voice. “I thought you said we were going to do dinner and a show.”
 
“I’ve had dinner,” Peter said, licking his lips, moaning pornographically before he swallowed. “Now would you like a show?”
 
Bound and gagged, Gwen turned her head to look at MJ, desperation in her eyes, sheer need—
 
Mary Jane reached into the handbag that Peter had saved and took out her cell phone. “If you don’t mind being recorded for posterity,” she said.
 
“When have I ever minded that?” Peter asked rhetorically.
 
Mary Jane smiled and started recording, turning the phone to record horizontally as Peter lowered his mouth to Gwen’s pussy again.
 
From the way Gwen started thrashing around with the camera on her, she had a real exhibitionist streak in her.