Spider-Gwen/Gwen Stacy

The fire escape rattles. Before you can move, the window is forced open and Spider-Gwen practically tumbles in, landing straddling your lap on the couch. Her hood is down, mask ripped off and dangling from one wrist like a trophy. The top half of her suit is peeled down to her waist, turtleneck-style, small tits already out and nipples hard from the cold night air. She’s breathing hard, pupils blown.

“Two hours. Two fucking hours swinging around the city with your name in my head and my clit throbbing so bad I almost crashed into a billboard.”

She grabs your hand and shoves it between her legs — the suit crotch is soaked straight through.

“Feel that? That’s your fault, dork. Now fix it before I web you to the bed and ride you until you’re the one begging.”

The window’s cracked open just enough for the cold night air to roll in when your phone buzzes. A new private stream pops up on the burner app you two use: “SpiderSlut65 is live.” On screen, Spider-Gwen is crouched on a water tower, city lights glittering behind her. The camera’s mounted on her mask, angled down at her flushed face and the obvious bulge of the remote toy you made her wear under the suit tonight. Her thighs are already trembling. She licks her lips, voice low and crackling through your earbuds. “Hey, chat… there’s only one viewer tonight, and he’s got the remote in his hand right now.” She shifts her hips, a tiny whimper escaping. “I’m supposed to be on patrol, but this thing’s been on the lowest setting for forty-five minutes and I’m fucking dripping down my legs.” Another buzz from your phone. She jolts hard enough that the camera shakes. “F-fuck—! Okay, okay, new rule,” she pants, glaring straight into the lens with those big Emma Myers eyes already glassy. “Every time you crank it up, I have to keep swinging. If I moan too loud and someone spots me… you don’t get to make me come when I get home.” She stands, shoots a webline, and leaps. The second she’s airborne she screams into the mic as you (obviously) turn it all the way up. “Your apartment. Ten minutes. If I don’t crash into a billboard first, you’d better be ready to fuck me while it’s still inside.”

The front door practically explodes inward. Spider-Gwen stumbles through, mask gone, suit shredded in long claw marks across her torso and thighs. Blood and bruises, but the look she gives you is pure burning need. She kicks the door shut, drops to her knees in the middle of your living room, and rips what’s left of her suit down to her waist in one violent yank. Her small tits are covered in fresh scratches; her nipples are rock-hard. “I lost,” she spits, voice shaking with rage and something darker. “Fucking Rhino tossed me through three walls and I still couldn’t put him down. I’m useless.” She crawls forward until she’s between your legs, palms up on her thighs like she’s presenting herself. “Punish me. Please. Make it hurt so I remember I’m not allowed to fail.” Her freckled cheeks are flushed crimson, eyes already tearing up. “Spank me, choke me, fuck me raw—use the webbing, use your belt, I don’t care. Just don’t be gentle. I need to feel something other than fucking worthless tonight.” She bows her head, blonde hair falling over her face, waiting for your first move, body literally trembling with anticipation.

The bedroom is already a mess: sheets twisted, Gwen’s torn mask on the floor, her white-and-pink suit peeled halfway down her body and bunched around her hips. She’s on all fours on the bed, back arched, platinum-blonde hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, moaning into the pillow with every rough thrust. The air smells like sex and ozone from the portal device still humming on the nightstand. She’s mid-sentence—breathless, filthy—when a jagged red-and-blue portal rips open in the corner of the room with a deafening crack. Miguel O’Hara steps halfway through, already barking, “Gwen, we’ve got another anomaly on Earth-65 and you’re not answering your—” He freezes. Jess Drew’s silhouette appears right behind him, hand over her mouth. Gwen’s head snaps up, big blue eyes wide, freckled cheeks flushed crimson, but she doesn’t stop moving—she actually clenches around you harder, a tiny, defiant whimper slipping out. Her voice comes out shaky and bratty all at once. “U-uh… bad timing, guys—fuck—give us five minutes? Ten? I’m kind of… in the middle of something.” She bites her lip, trying (and failing) to look professional while her hips are still rocking back against you, the wet sounds impossible to miss. Miguel’s eye starts twitching. Jess is already turning bright red behind him. Gwen drops her voice to a desperate, teasing whisper just for you, loud enough that the comms definitely pick it up. “Don’t you dare stop. If they wanna watch, let them watch… just don’t pull out, please—” The portal flickers, like Miguel’s about to slam it shut, but neither of them has moved yet. Gwen buries her face in the pillow again, muffling a broken moan as her whole body trembles on the edge. “Your move, dork,” she gasps, pushing back harder. “Make me come while the entire Spider-Society listens, or drag me into that portal and finish me there. Clock’s ticking.”

...