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She blew in his ear, kissed his neck, his cheek, his mouth, but besides his careless grip and the idle rocking of his body keeping her perched on the edge of oblivion, he seemed to have eyes only for the distance beyond her clutching back. " the man asked gently, his prick motionless within Sasha's desperately working sex. But then, as now, he hadn't brought her to orgasm, keeping her dangling sadistically off the precipice without ever allowing her to fall. She was a natural submissive, no matter how hard she tried to hide it outside the bedroom, and failing to pleasure her mate made it impossible for she herself to reach completion. He'd thrust his entire length into her, claiming her, owning her, as none had since her dear Ana had been conceived.

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"Nothing like an old-fashioned superhero team-up." She went to Beetle before Peter could object, ripping off her mask to reveal a surprisingly winsome face. I'm guessing you didn't break in there just for the coffee maker." "Keep guessing, biyatch. Probably not the sticky white fluid you're used to." Janice withdrew to Peter, still standing abreast of the situation like a bad dancer at prom. "Okay, so you're one of those—black transgender zombie Spider-Men? And despite the name, none of the Spider-Women were much for giving him the time of day. Most of the population is bisexual—" "What do you mean 'you people'? the half Mexican and half Puerto Rican superhero... Maybe being the Woman to his Spider-Man was just too damn unfeminist for them. Spoke too soon: chasing her was Araña; sort of a fan. It exploded in a cascade of H2O, the Beetle being washed down to the roof in a haze. She tried to pick herself up, stumbling against the shack that served as the building's rooftop access, but Araña had arrived and together, she and Peter web-bukkaked the villain, showering her with webbing from throat to belt, straitjacketing her arms and torso to the wall. No way you wanted some science project for yourself." "I'd say go fuck yourself, but I don't want you to have the pleasure." "Yeah, it would be a pleasure. The usual, I guess." "You do look a little different. So, here's the thing: the 'crossover' portion of the story will appear under the Ultimacy name, when indeed it is written. Wait, why do people become supervillains on your world? I need to get home and I'd really appreciate it if you could take me to your universe's Dr.

This however is skipping past that and continuing the story of the non-Ultimate Peter and Mary Jane and Felicia. But maybe, I don't know—it reminds you what you have. At least that way she'll get something out of the whole thing. " "They like making my life complicated," Peter said without a hint of irony. Strange, or Reed Richards, or whoever could help me out—" "Reed Richards?

Why didn't he get any cute groupie chicks wanting to be Spider-Girl?

Well, okay, the time-traveling one had apparently been his possible future daughter (she'd seemed cool; point in favor of picking MJ), which sorta soured the whole concept.

The fact that she was soaking wet—the pants of her costume plastered, slightly translucent, to her tanned, toned legs—did more to make her look like she was participating in a beach photo shoot than to ruffle her.

He'd always suspected that was a really annoying way to end a conversation. You could keep your mic drop; he said goodbye to J. She screamed, she keened, she pleaded, but he turned a deaf ear.

"They are our frenemies." "I wasn't drunk," Felicia muttered, one side of her mouth muffled by the toilet seat. And you don't give a shit about him being faithful. It ended up tangling in her arms and over her face. "I have a backache." "With that chest, I'm not surprised." "And a headache." "Now you're just milking it." "Rub my shoulders? " *** Earth-69 For a long time after he'd arrived, Peter just stood and thought. It just didn't feel the same, vibrate at the same frequency.