Vitae

Mary Jane had gotten a bit of a rude awakening. Her churning stomach woke her up painfully and when she opened her eyes, the sun was bright, the birds were chirping… And her ass hurt.

After she had gotten a good look at her surroundings, her first thought was "My ass hurts," because her ass, cheeks and all, hurt like hell. Seeing the stunted 'doobie' to her right, just by her leg, Mary Jane's following thought, after repeating that her butt hurt and wondering why it did, was "I'm going to kill you, Felicia." Then it was, "God, my ass hurts..."

The birds were chirping and the city that never sleeps was wide awake. Her husband was waking up too, slowly stirring in his sleep. Peter was on his back and she was in his lap, a normal enough position for her to wake up in. Mary Jane spent a few peaceful moments watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful. Not to jerk her own chain or anything, but he always slept peacefully around her. But this was different, better. He was smiling in his sleep. It almost made the pain in her butt worth it.

"Where's Annie?" was the first thing out of Peter's mouth, his voice hard and alert. Mary Jane melted inside.

It was the first thing out of his mouth every morning. She didn't mind being a close second on the list of her husband's most treasured things if it was to their child. The nightmares had stopped after Annie was born, but sometimes Peter would still wake up and go to Annie's room to make sure she was okay. It didn't matter if it was before or after midnight, Mary Jane was always there with him.

"Shh, Tiger, shh. She's fine," she cooed.

He relaxed at her gentle coaxing, his hard body, at once ready to spring into action, easing up beneath her. Mary Jane spent a minute looking at him. He was so peaceful, with such a content smile on his face and she wondered what, exactly, was causing it. Was it waking up with her, or waking up inside her? Either way was a plus to her, she supposed, so maybe she wouldn't kill Felicia. That would make Peter sad. Annie too.

Her husband's chestnut hair peeked from underneath his mask, shining with the morning sun. His eyes were covered by his mask, but Mary Jane knew they were slowly shutting as he went back to mostly-sleep. Annie was safe, Mary Jane was with him. Only one more thing mattered to Peter, and he asked about it next.

"You alright Red?"

All things considered, as Mary Jane looked the backdrop of white behind and beneath him—webbing as thick and opaque as bedsheets that contrasting with the stubble of his beard—she was better than alright. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her breath tasted like… chips. And soda. That explained the empty bottles and bags surrounding them like a shut-in's apartment.

But her stomach gurgled in a way that she recognized easily. She doubted many other wives swallowed for their husbands. With how often Peter was in her throat though, his testicles flush against her chin, she got used to it. Her stomach gurgled with half of a slurry she could feel had come right out of her husband's balls and into her mouth, and then there was still the other, unexplained half. Unexplained because there isn't a polite way to tell Peter, first thing in the morning, that her butt hurt because he'd stuffed it.

She smiled soulfully, pushing down the urge to push something out of her hole. "G'Morning Tiger. I'm okay," she said genuinely, and kissed him, wanting to enjoy the peaceful smile on his face.

He grinned sleepily and he slid his gloved hands up her wide hips and down again, resting them on the meat of her equally wide ass. She snorted—Peter Parker and his wife's ass—that was the real love story here. But his kneading her cheeks, softly groping them, made them feel better, and reminded her of the dull aching of her asscheeks.

"Good morning yourself, Red," he said, holding her close. "Did I miss breakfast?" Her stomach gurgled. "Did you miss breakfast?"

"Oh, I'm stuffed," Mary Jane said, figuring he hadn't woken up all the way yet.

She pushed up from his chest, squinting an eye and ignoring the insistent pressure in her insides. Her hands flat against the rock hard muscles of his body, she wriggled her fingers against them, appreciating him idly. Then she moved just a bit, and regretted it as her insides objected strongly, writhing and choking on the intruder lodged up in her pipes. When she groaned, her throat was dry like she spent the entire night doing that, moaning and screaming, which she probably had. The ache in her ass didn't seem like it could have gotten there without a lot of… noise. Peter groaned himself but didn't yet seem to have the presence of mind to notice why, even though Mary Jane could feel why.

Trying to figure out how any points making her butt hurt for the love of her life's sake landed her on the ideal housewife scale, she asked, "You think I'd make a good wife?" She bit her lip and tried to keep her eyes from crossing due to the pressure up her pipe, knowing that it was pretty up there, and so was her score.

Peter laughed. "Sorry Red, I know a gal who's got you beat."

She groaned again. "That lucky redhead…"

Her hands drifting to her stomach, she noted, appreciated, and sighed at how swollen and bloated it was, like she had reached her first trimester. The gravity of the situation slowly started to sink in as she traced her belly and felt it gurgle, and churn, and ache. Her cutie patootie was pressed flush against Peter's thighs, heavy under her weight, the weight of her stomach, and warm where they touched, the meat of her ass hanging over his muscular legs on either side with only her knees and powers keeping her steady.

Not that she needed it. Peter's hands wouldn't ever let her go. That was something Mary Jane knew without a doubt. Which was a good thing, because they were about eight hundred feet up the air, his cock was stuck inside her ass.

Where the butt of her suit was supposed to be was a wide open ass-window, and her fat assflesh spilled out of her tight suit. The formerly tightly packed flesh was cold, choked by her torn costume. Only the gentle ministrations of Peter's hands kept her ass warm, which served to remind her that he'd beat her ass to be as pink as her pussy and as red as her hair, because it stung like hell.

She bit her lip. Her hair, undone at some point in her sleep, hung down to the middle of her back with her bangs sloppy and tossed up in a way that'd make other women jealous. She was rocking the 'woke up like this' look like a pro, and it was because her husband's fat, uncomfortable dick was snug in her tightly packed, uncomfortable backpipe. Mary Jane wondered if she should patent that.

She'd only saw herself because of the mirror in front of her, except it wasn't a mirror. It was the side of an office building. And with a blank face, Mary Jane noted there was a crowd of business formal people inside of it, with more streaming inside from the doors. Just to see them.

She looked down at her husband, and at the bag of chips and everything else. "…I don't think I should eat anymore," she said blankly, rubbing her stomach and expecting to feel a kick, but instead she was just ungodly hungry, like she always when she'd slept with the powers on, and unseemly stuffed.

There didn't seem like there was enough space in her stomach to accommodate any solid foods, stuffed with gooey liquid protein and churning as it was. That was a pain in the ass as well, and it was her Peter's fault too.

"I feel like I could eat a horse out of house and home…" Peter groaned with a tired laugh. Mary Jane wasn't surprised. Everything he had was stuck inside her. "Mmn, feel like I could eat you, Red…"

"So long as you promise not to turn into a gigantic spider. Again," she said.

He pulled her close and she didn't have the strength to stop him, or the desire too. Mary Jane was half aware that part of her mind was slowly shutting down to save her from the shame, horror, and event horizon that came when she realized she was getting wet. People were watching them through a window, hundreds of feet up, and she was getting turned on despite the fact that her pussy was the only part of her delicates still covered up.

There was no doubt in her mind how'd they done it. It wasn't coming back to her, yet, but when her husband's big dick wakes up with an eclipsing morning wood up in her cutie patootie, and her twat was covered up and tortuously turned on while he did it, there weren't many different ways that configuration could have gone. When Mary Jane spied an unfamiliar, expensive looking camera and phone nearby on the bed of webbing, suddenly the people inside the office building taking their phones out was less of a problem and more of a, "Well..."

Feeling his cock pulsate in her sensitive insides, stewing in a lake of his genetic legacy, she moaned softly, shivering as he ran his lips over her neck and breathed in her hair, his stubble tickling her in the best way. Her pussy throbbed excitedly, nearly jumping at the prospect of sitting on his face and grinding out even a single orgasm to relieve the electric mess of her mind, and Mary Jane almost considered it. She felt wired, hair-brained and…. A little turned on. A lot turned on. Riding her husband's face like the spider-powered cowgirl mother of his child was more appealing than it should have been.

Peter made it worse when he moved, pulling her up in his lap, holding her possessively and pecking her lips like a man of contrasts. A peck in the morning… and his cock up her butt. It made her eyes cross; she loved this man, but his dick was up her ass and that wasn't the most romantic thing to experience.

Mary Jane breathed a steamy "Fuck…" at tasting cherry on his breath, the scent of Felicia's designer weed, and her own special, heated lube that was half of the only reason why her asshole hadn't been roasted by friction burn, and knew that, at some point, Peter had spread her cheeks and spit-shined her butthole before dick-timing her asshole.

And when he stopped, she wondered if he was finally going to realize that Manhattan was up and at them and likely watching them like ants from the ground, watching him fuck his wife in the morning. Her breath hitched. "Wait…"

But no, he shifted his hips, ground them against the soft flesh of her ass, and his cock throbbed like it was saying hello and good morn' to her rectum, which convulsed and gave her hell for letting her husband's big, stupid cock pin her ass like it was a tail and not his third leg.

Mary Jane kept her eyes off of the gaggle of people inside the building in front of her—furtively looking away when four more clamored in. She could barely hear them yelling to "Come see this!" and wondered if it was the blood pumping between her ears, the sound of her heartbeat, or the fact that having her husband's schlong sit in her pit took her aural faculties away.

Some took their phones out, talking excitedly, and some waved at them. It was a special type of hell when one woman smacked held her phone number up and pointed blatantly at Peter—giving Mary Jane the 'call me' sign. She Jane focused on her husband to stop herself from passing out from shame of people thinking they were perverts.

"Have I told you how much I love you yet?" Peter asked. She could see the anal-romance in his eyes, no doubt thinking that she'd taken her wifely duties to the next level and shoved him up her backpipe in his sleep to give him a happy, warm start to his day.

He told her that every morning. Always, after that time he'd been to the future and saw himself get killed in a cemetery. In retrospect, having him die of worry for her and Annie was much better, but it didn't seem like she had to worry about that with his cock up her bullied butt, which started to choke and convulse around his shaft wildly like it was threatening her poor ass for its lunch money.

And while lunch money wasn't what she had up there, what she did was more valuable for every woman that wanted her husband's babies. That list was long enough that Mary Jane was a bit too smug about it to not be sociopathic.

"I'm still waiting on that," she said with a crooked smile..

Peter nipped at her lip, nudged her chin with his lips, and trailed down to the pit of her neck, planting soft, insistent kisses there. With his cock up her ass. The more he did it the more she realized that space up there was at a premium, and his dick was hot, and her ass was sensitive, and that the lube still worked because as he started to rock his hips, the hot friction of an on sale water-based heated lubricant was setting her ass on fire and making her pussy weep with frustrated pleasure.

"Love you Mary Jane Parker…" Peter whispered in her ear, sending a violent shiver down her spine.

It was a good thing he kept quiet. Their audience opened the window at seeing him start to rock her in his lap like he did. They wanted to get a good view, men and women watching as Spider-Man rocked her in his lap, their eyes on the voluminous, creamy cheeks of her fat ass slowly rising and falling the barest bit while she tried to keep quiet… but didn't try to stop him because he was making her see stars, and maybe, just maybe, she was a pervert.

Mary Jane balled her hands into fists against his chest and clenched her jaw. Their audience didn't know they were married, that her husband was making a slow, loving, uncomfortable fuck to her like he did every morning, or that now it was with her ass, an even more teeth-gritting, eye crossing affair than usual.

The usual was that Peter would wake up first, spoon her and dick her down into the pillows so they wouldn't wake Annie. He'd make his wife bite her lip in her sleep before she even made breakfast. Now, he wasn't just dicking her down, he was deep-dicking her up her fat, tight, writhing ass while they were in-costume. Their marital bed was replaced by the hugest expanse of webbing she'd ever seen, and her husband's hands were on her wide hips while her sphincter was making all sorts of plea bargains in exchange for him taking his cock out of her ass instead of trying to stuff it in deeper, even though her pussy was learning to be pretty happy with the tight-fit configuration.

Her asshole's plea bargains all revolved around her never taking it up her chute exchange for using every other hole and crevice she had, from her hands, to her feet to lastly, her reluctantly offered up asscrack. The part of her that could hear her poor asshole being stretched open and fucked raw between her ears made her drool stupidly as it made an offer that she almost couldn't refuse:

"Take it out now, Mary Jane, and I'll relive the pressure of having your husband's cumload lodged up your sigmoid colon. It'll end up stewing on the NYC streets, sure, but I promise it'll only hurt like hell whenever you try to sit down. Sure, you won't have a single straight bowel movement for weeks, but it'll be slightly less hell than if you let him fuck my ass again…"

In the building she could see people hold their phones. They weren't just taking pictures, they were recording them. But, apparently, they had recorded themselves if the camera and phone she didn't recognize said anything. She was going to murder Felicia Hardy. Maybe even Peter Parker's silly wife too, but that whimpering redhead was already being ass-assassinated by his fat cock without any muscle relaxant, hundreds of feet in the air, so that was punishment enough, she thought.

It was all too much for Mary Jane. Her pussy was throbbing, Peter was whispering little nothings in her ear that slowly turned hot and dirty, and they were all variations her ass being so fat, or that he'd take responsibility if he managed to put a baby up her ass, or that she'd be gravid and swollen after he was through with her, even though she already felt like she was.

The last straw was when he said that, after making sure their child was safe and had gotten a nice, hearty meal for breakfast—because that's what every growing spider-powered kid needed, as well as a good morning hug and kiss from her parents—Peter was going to bend his wife over, shove her face into a pillow on the ground, and fuck her through the fucking floor.

Ben and May Parker had really done their number right and made Peter the best father for their child Mary Jane could hope for, and she came her brains out all over his cock because she knew he wasn't lying.

Her pussy creaming while her asshole was churned like butter by his cock, Mary Jane rode out the orgasmic high, her pussy clenching on nothing but still trying to wring out the phantom shape of her husband's cock. Her poor ass was busy reconciling with the fact that it was dealing with what her pussy usually did, and that was the very real reality of wringing out her husband's cum inside of her. Now, it was inside her intestines.

Peter's thrusts got harder and more insistent, his balls slowly, heavily tapping against her ass as he sheathed himself in her hot, stewing depths. Their illicit, careless and public anal fuck that would ruin her ability to sit had her pussy smacking wetly against his crotch, their fuck from the night before lewdly and wetly splurting out of her hole on every mistimed outstroke her pit was so stuffed. It still only barely relieved the building, insistent pressure of the junk her husband had fucked up in her trunk, and it was all on camera while Peter fucked it out of her. Now everyone would know that Spider-Man was giving it Spinneret, hard, that she was getting it up the ass, and that she was getting off on it.

His cock swelled, pushed to the edge from being stuck inside her so long, and that pushed the boundaries of her repurposed hole to the edge too. Mary Jane had no doubt that her poor hole would never be the same after this as Peter's stupid, fat peter surged a torpedoed gout of semen up her ass. She was also sure that everyone in Hell's Kitchen had heard her scream when he did.

The people in the office building were open mouthed and wide eyed, faces stuck in shocked smiles as they watched her gyrate on her husband's cock, stifling her scream by chewing her lips. But it didn't end there. Peter clutched her tight to his chest and carelessly railed her through her cum; he dragged her down so she had no choice but to look inside the window and watch their audience as her husband fucked through his own orgasm, which was less of an orgasm and more of a breeding instinct that drove him to piledrive his cock up the wrong place hard enough to bounce his balls off her fat, milky cheeks.

She clutched at his back, her mouth open when her teeth weren't clenched, and her teeth clenched when her tongue wasn't falling out of her mouth. Her fingers couldn't tear through his costume because she'd already done that at one point last night, she found, and the entire time her stomach got bigger, Peter drained his balls up her chute, and her pussy slowly creamed itself in frustrated bliss against his pelvic wall, even as the frothed up mess and moans of their fuck became too much to hold in.

She watched the bags of chips and bottles of pop and plastic crates of food bounce up and down on the bed of webbing like a trampoline, sailing down into the NYC streets and she came hard enough to force his entire cock out, and that made her see stars as their onlookers jumped from her raw scream.

She'd gotten the munchies, gotten her ass fed a viscous, vicious creampie, and gotten fucked up the ass by Peter before she even got a chance to breathe. Mary Jane smiled a crinkled, fucked-dumb smile, even as the sound she made was… unlady-like. Because forcing out a night's worth of her superhuman hubby's cum from her gaped open pit wasn't anything a lady should ever do, but she did it anyway because she wasn't a lady. She was Peter's wife. Quelle surprise.

Mary Jane groaned in relief and frustration while his sperm tumbled out of her ass audibly. She leaned back just enough to rub her pussy into dust, not caring that they were being watched like a zoo exhibit. Peter was still cumming, his iron-hard prick jerking for something to breed as hot gouts of sperm landed on her back and head in a showering aftermath of marital anal sex. Like a good, fucked stupid in public wife, Mary Jane put it between her asscheeks and rocked with him, her mind half gone as they got each other off.

It was only them. Peter's face was between her tits, then her tits were squeezed into his mouth and he sucked her hard enough to leave her teats swollen, but it was only them, Mary Jane tried to convince herself. Not the wide eyed, shocked faces of early morning office workers watching Spinneret get her fat spinneret blown out by Spider-Man's fat dick while they recorded it.

She fell like a sack of potatoes on top of him, her arms too weak to keep herself up and her legs too weak because her ass being gaped open, like she felt it was, was a blow to her superhuman equilibrium. Peter still wasn't soft, not yet, but he had stopped cumming. Mary Jane's hole felt hot and dry-heaving because there was just no more cum to push out, and her cheeks felt cold as his cum started to cool in the cold, Manhattan morning breeze.

And if her husband wanted to go again… well, he'd have to fuck her in her sleep. Mary Jane wasn't just tired, she was exhausted. Emotionally and... Anally. Needed to go into a coma to retreat from the shameful fact, embarrassment, and turn-on that her husband just railed her in the ass in front of seven, no… twenty-four, recording people, and she came from the breeding comfort of his dick. In her ass.

Her married life with her Amazing Spider-Man was just full of surprises. Felicia was going to have to die. Murder by her husband's fat cock up the catburglar's soap-lubed ass sounded like hell enough for Annie May Parker's favorite aunt, and Mary Jane Parker's pot dealing pain in the asshole.

Peter muttered to her as she drifted off to sleep. His voice was like a lullaby. "Red? Do you hear cameras? …And why are you in costume…?"

Spending the last few minutes getting the remains of webbing out of her hair—Annie May Parker was a freckled terror—Felicia sat down on her couch with her morning wine and laptop. Most people drank coffee in the morning. Most people hadn't swiped vintage 1800s era wine before babysitting their ex's kid.

She loaded her feed for the morning news—mostly reports of anything interesting to swipe—and then give back if Peter gave her that look. There wasn't anything interesting except… huh. J. Jonah Jameson's office at the Bugle had been broken into and wrecked. He reported a missing, not even out of the box phone and camera.

And then there was the 'SPIDER-MAN SEXTAPE!' all over her twitter feed.

Felicia clicked on the link, because of course she did, unsurprised and expecting another weird gay porn cosplay fuck of some guy dressed in a cheaply made imitation of Peter's costume, or a weirdly well-made imitation of Peter's costume in a straight porn production, but only that. Pornhub was down due to traffic related problems though, so she had to go to Xvideos.

What she saw took a second for her to process. Then, she spit out her wine all over the screen which, coincidentally, had Mary Plain's pink asshole staring a camera in the face, inside of Jonah's unwrecked office. Then Peter was two fingers knuckles deep in her guts, and Felicia started to choke a little.

"What the fuck...?"

"You say something Aunt Cat?" Annie came running into the room, flipping over the couch to sit next to her. "What're you watching?" she asked innocently.

Felicia jumped and her wine went flying. "Go to your room!" she shrieked.

"Mn, you like that, Tiger? How it your fingers feel deep inside my a-"

"Was that my mommy?"

"Room! Now!"

Annie slowly backed away as Felicia pointed to the general direction of her room. Felicia spent the next few minutes watching her ex's wife flex her pink, gaped open hole in front of the camera while she laughed like an idiot. The she watched her ex go spelunking in his wife's asshole. Inside the Daily Bugle. On camera. Felicia wondered if she had anything to do with that… and then she watched it again.

If she did have something to do with it, she had always wondered what Peter was like when he got high. As she wiped off her laptop and shut it before she walked to the window, she had a feeling she knew now. Felicia also had a feeling that Mary Jane, and her asshole, knew too. And… if the helicopter circling the expanse of webbing that looked like a gigantic funnel web in downtown Manhattan—when Peter was hers she couldn't help but to learn obscure facts about spider webs—was any indication, she had a feeling all of Manhattan knew. The world too.

"Huh…" Felicia sighed breathlessly.

So, she shut her blinds and climbed back into bed. Not for the first time idly wondering if she had fucked up in not accepting the man behind Spider-Man's mask sooner. She knew she did, but this was just pissing her off.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and favorites and et cetera. Drop a line if you liked it. Also, did you see the PGW trailer for Spider-Man PS4? Five words: Oh, yes. And Mary Jane.