Craig wants in the action

Craig’s sneer was a blade, cutting through the haze of Peter’s shock as he stood frozen outside the cabin window. The younger man’s phone, still recording, captured every twitch of Peter’s face, every flicker of shame and arousal in his eyes. Inside, MJ’s moans filled the air, each one a reminder of Peter’s failure as Nick’s slow, deliberate lovemaking drove her to new heights of ecstasy. Craig had seen the wet stain on Peter’s shorts, the evidence of his conflicted desire, and he knew exactly how to exploit it. Inside the cabin, MJ was on her knees, her back arched as Nick thrust into her from behind, his hands gripping her hips with a possessive tenderness. Her flaming red heart-shaped bush, marked with Nick’s name, glistened with her arousal, and her cries were raw, uninhibited, each one a dagger to Peter’s heart. Nick’s thick cock slid in and out with a rhythm that was both commanding and intimate, a masterclass in dominance that Peter could never replicate. MJ’s body shuddered, her breasts bouncing, her face a mask of surrender and pleasure.

Craig slipped silently around the cabin to the side door, his movements predatory, his phone still rolling. Peter is distracted by the emotional storm raging within him, failed to register the threat. Craig stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex, MJ’s moans a constant pulse in the background. He crept closer to the living room, where Nick and MJ were lost in their world, then turned back to the window, where Peter remained, his breath fogging the glass, his cock straining against the damp fabric of his shorts.

Peter’s mind was a battlefield. He hated Nick—hated his smugness, his cruelty, his ability to take MJ in ways Peter never could. But the sight of her, so completely given over to Nick, stirred something dark and undeniable within him. Her heart-shaped bush, the words “Master’s property” etched into her skin, burned in his mind. He’d always thought MJ’s love for him was unshakable, a constant he could rely on no matter how much he neglected her. Now, watching her surrender, he saw the truth: he’d failed her, and she’d found someone who didn’t. The shame was crushing, but the arousal was worse, a traitor in his body that refused to let him look away. His cock throbbed, half-hard despite the wet stain, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to punch Nick or be him.

Craig’s voice sliced through his thoughts. “Enjoying the show, Parker?” The words were laced with mockery, and Peter spun around, his face flushing with guilt and rage.

“Craig—what the hell are you doing here?” Peter’s voice was hoarse, his hands fumbling to cover the evidence of his arousal. His mind screamed at him to run, to swing away on a web and escape this nightmare, but his feet stayed rooted, betraying him.

Craig stepped closer, his phone angled to capture Peter’s shame. “Oh, I’m just passing by, but ended watching you about to jerk off. You’re not exactly subtle, standing there with a hard-on while your wife gets fucked by my uncle.”

“I wasn’t—” Peter’s protest died as Craig raised an eyebrow, glancing at the wet spot on his shorts. His heart pounded, his fists clenching, but the truth was undeniable. He was hard. He was watching. And he couldn’t stop.

“Relax, Parker,” Craig said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I see how you’re looking at them. You’re into it, aren’t you? Watching MJ get what you couldn’t give her. That look in her eyes—worry, need, love. You never got that, did you?” He leaned in, his breath hot against Peter’s ear. “Why don’t you come inside? Get a closer look. Maybe even feel something real for once.”

Peter’s mind reeled. This was wrong—sick, degrading, a betrayal of everything he was. He was Spider-Man, a hero, not some pathetic voyeur. But the image of MJ’s eyes, filled with that **** need to please Nick, haunted him. He’d never seen her like that with him, not in years. His love had been enough, or so he thought, but it was a passive love, assumed, taken for granted. Nick demanded her devotion, and she gave it freely. The realization was a knife in his gut, twisting with every moan from the cabin. And yet, his cock pulsed, the traitor in his body responding to the scene, to Craig’s words, to the sick allure of being part of it, even in shame.

Before he could stop himself, he let Craig guide him toward the door, his feet moving as if detached from his will. His thoughts were a cacophony—Run, fight, leave, don’t do this, you’re better than this, but she’s not yours anymore, you lost her, you deserve this, you want this. The last thought hit hardest, a whisper of truth he couldn’t silence. He wanted to feel something, anything, even if it was humiliation.

Inside, the scene was overwhelming. MJ’s cries were louder, her body rocking with Nick’s thrusts, her hands clawing at the sofa. Nick’s cock, thick and commanding, claimed her with every movement, and her moans were a symphony of surrender. Peter’s chest tightened, his breath shallow, as Craig pushed him toward a chair in the corner. Nick glanced over, his eyes meeting Craig’s with a flicker of approval, then returned to MJ, his thrusts deepening, her cries growing sharper.

Craig’s hand was firm on Peter’s shoulder, pushing him down. “Look at her,” he whispered, his voice dripping with cruel delight. “She’s never looked like that with you, has she? That’s what real control looks like. Real power. You’re just the guy who watches.”

Peter’s knees buckled, and he sank into the chair, his eyes locked on MJ. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her body trembling with pleasure. His mind spiraled—She’s so beautiful, so alive, and it’s not for me. I failed her. I let her go. I’m nothing compared to him. The shame was a weight, crushing him, but the arousal was a fire, burning through his resistance. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop the throbbing in his shorts.

Craig leaned down, his voice low and commanding. “You want to feel something, Parker? Get on your knees.”

Peter’s head snapped up, panic flooding his system. “What? No, I—” His voice cracked, his mind screaming—This is too far, this is wrong, you’re not this person, you’re Spider-Man, you’re better than this. But Craig’s eyes were unrelenting, and MJ’s moans were a constant reminder of his failure. You’re not enough. You never were. She chose him.

“Do it,” Craig snapped, his tone sharp, brooking no argument. “You’re already here. You’re already hard. You’re already watching. Don’t pretend you’re above this.”

Peter’s thoughts fractured. I can’t do this. I won’t. But I’m already here. I’m already lost. What’s one more step? What’s one more shame? His body moved before his mind could catch up, his knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. His eyes stayed on MJ, her body shuddering under Nick’s relentless rhythm, her cries a mix of pleasure and devotion. The sight was a chain, binding him to this moment, to this degradation.

Craig unbuttoned his pants, his cock springing free, hard and demanding. Peter’s breath hitched, his mind a storm of revulsion and fascination. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. Craig’s hand grabbed Peter’s hair, guiding him closer, and Peter’s thoughts collapsed into a single, **** plea—Just make it stop. Make the pain stop. Make me feel something else.

“Suck it,” Craig ordered, his voice cold and commanding. “While you watch your wife get fucked. Show me you’re not just a bystander in your own life.”

Peter’s lips parted, trembling, as he leaned forward. His mind was a cacophony of shame. The taste of Craig was foreign, overwhelming, a physical manifestation of his humiliation. His eyes stayed on MJ, her body rocking with Nick’s thrusts, her moans filling the room. Each sound was a reminder of his failure, each thrust a confirmation of Nick’s dominance. Peter’s cock throbbed painfully, the arousal a betrayal he couldn’t escape. I hate this. I want this. I hate myself. I need this. The conflicting thoughts swirled, drowning out his resistance, leaving only the act, the surrender.

Craig’s hand tightened in Peter’s hair, guiding him with deliberate slowness, savoring the control. “That’s it, Parker,” he growled. “Look at her. She’s Nick’s now”

Peter’s muffled whimper was lost in MJ’s screams as she neared another climax, her body convulsing under Nick’s relentless pace. Nick leaned down, whispering something to MJ that made her moan louder, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Peter’s thoughts spiraled into despair—She’s gone. She’s his. And I’m here, on my knees, for what? To feel something? To prove I’m still alive? The shame was a tidal wave, but the act, the submission, was a strange kind of anchor, grounding him in the chaos of his broken world.

Craig’s breathing grew heavier, his hips moving slightly, but he held back, his control absolute. He wanted to prolong this, to savor Peter’s degradation, to build toward something even more devastating. His phone captured every moment, every flicker of shame in Peter’s eyes, every moan from MJ, every thrust from Nick. The cabin was a stage, and Craig was directing the fall of a hero.

Peter’s mind was a haze, the taste of Craig, the sounds of MJ, the weight of his failure blending into a single, overwhelming sensation. I’m nothing. I’m hers. I’m his. I’m lost. He didn’t know how long it would last, but for now, he was trapped, bound by his own desires and the cruel orchestration of Craig’s will.