Not really, but Felicia does

The bedroom was quiet again.

Not awkward exactly. Just… heavy.

Mary Jane leaned back in the chair near the bed, arms folded loosely across her naked chest, eyes drifting across the room while she tried to sort through everything she’d just heard. Felicia remained where she stood near the dresser, weight shifted onto one hip, arms hanging loosely at her sides.

For someone who normally radiated confidence, she looked… restrained.

Patient.

Felicia tilted her head slightly.

“So that’s everything you wanted to talk about?” she asked after a moment. “Feels a little underwhelming.”

MJ let out a small breath through her nose.

“I’m processing,” she said.

Felicia raised an eyebrow.

“Processing.”

MJ glanced back at her.

“Yeah. You just told me you’re still in love with my husband.” She gestured vaguely between them. “And apparently you’re now bound to him as a genie whose entire power set revolves around sex and desire, so in essence you are his sex ****.”

She shook her head slowly.

“That’s not exactly normal dinner conversation.”

Felicia’s lips twitched.

“Fair.”

MJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I know I asked the questions,” she continued, voice calmer now, “but give a girl a minute to process, okay?”

Felicia studied her for a second, then nodded once.

“Alright.”

A beat passed.

Then Felicia shifted slightly and gestured toward the door.

“So… do you want me to leave?” she asked. “Give you some space.”

MJ immediately shook her head.

“No.”

Felicia paused.

“No?”

“No,” MJ repeated. “You can stay.”

She leaned back again in the chair.

“I just think I’m done talking about genie mechanics for a little bit.”

Felicia chuckled softly.

“Understandable.”

Another quiet settled over the room.

Felicia glanced toward the closed bedroom door, then back at MJ. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

MJ gave a small, amused huff. “You realize Peter structured the wish so neither of us can lie right now.”

Felicia’s smile turned sly. “Exactly. Funny thing about that wish…” she leaned back slightly, “…it works both ways.”

MJ stared at her for a second, then rolled her eyes. “God, that’s such a Peter thing to do.”

“Exactly.”

They shared a brief, **** smile.

Felicia shifted her weight again, the mischievous spark slowly returning to her eyes.

“Well,” she said lightly, “if honesty is the rule…”

MJ squinted at her.

“I don’t like that tone.”

Felicia ignored that.

“Best sex you ever had?”

MJ blinked.

“…Really?”

Felicia shrugged innocently.

“What?”

“That’s the question you go with?”

Felicia spread her hands slightly.

“I’m literally a sex genie now.”

MJ stared at her for a long second.

Then she snorted.

“Oh please.”

Felicia tilted her head.

“Please what?”

“You would ask that even if our roles were reversed.”

Felicia opened her mouth… and then stopped.

Her lips slowly curled into a grin.

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

MJ shook her head, laughing softly under her breath.

“God, Peter is never going to believe this conversation happened.”

Felicia crossed her arms loosely.

“So?”

MJ looked up at her.

“So?”

Felicia gestured toward her.

“You didn’t answer.”

MJ groaned.

“You’re serious.”

“The wish says no lies.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to answer immediately.”

Felicia leaned casually against the dresser.

“Technically, yes it does.”

MJ stared at her again.

Then she sighed dramatically.

“This is what I get for letting Peter make the rules.”

Felicia’s grin widened.

“So?”

MJ rubbed her temples for a second.

Then she lowered her hands and looked back up at Felicia, one eyebrow arching slightly.

“…You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Another beat passed.

Then MJ sighed again.

“Fine.”

Felicia straightened slightly, clearly entertained now.

MJ pointed a finger at her.

“You asked for it.”

Felicia’s grin sharpened.

“I usually do.”

MJ rolled her eyes one more time.

Then she leaned back in the chair again, crossing one leg over the other as she looked up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking.

“…Alright,” she said slowly.

She glanced back at Felicia.

“Do you know what a comic-con is?”

-

The air in the storage room was thick with the smell of old cardboard and the distant, muffled roar of the comic convention crowd.

Peter, his Nightwing costume stretched taut over his shoulders, had MJ pinned against a stack of unopened boxes marked “GRAPHIC NOVELS – FRAGILE.”

Her Batgirl cowl was pushed back, her red hair spilling wildly over the dark, kevlar-like shoulders of her suit. His mouth was on her neck, and her breath came in sharp, **** gasps that had nothing to do with the tightness of her costume.

“They’re going to start the Q&A; soon,” she panted, even as her hands scrambled for the clasp at the front of his pants.

“I’ll watch it on Youtube later on,” he growled, the sound vibrating against her skin.

His hands slid down her sides, finding the zipper of her Batgirl suit. He tugged it down, the sound loud in the confined space, and peeled the black fabric to her waist. The cool air of the room hit her heated skin, raising goosebumps that he immediately soothed with the rough warmth of his palms.

He cupped her breasts, her nipples already hard and eager beneath his touch. “Peter…” she whispered, her head falling back against the boxes. It was a protest that held no protest at all.

Her own hands found their goal, freeing him from his costume pants. He was already hard, thick and hot in her grip. She stroked him once, twice, feeling him pulse against her palm, and a low groan tore from his throat.

He didn’t wait.

He hoisted her up, her back against the cardboard, her legs instantly wrapping around his waist. The slick heat between her legs met the head of his cock, and for a suspended second they both simply held there, breathing each other’s air, feeling the frantic beat of their hearts through layers of spandex and leather.

Then he pushed inside. It was a slow, inexorable, perfect stretch.

MJ’s eyes fluttered shut as he filled her, a choked cry escaping her lips.

He began to move, a deep, driving rhythm that made the boxes behind her creak in protest. Each thrust was a lightning bolt of sensation driving through her core. She could feel every ridge, every vein of him, the friction so intense it bordered on pain before tipping into blinding pleasure.

Her fingernails dug into the blue bird symbol on his chest.

“God, yes… right there. Don’t stop,” she begged, the words tumbling out in a ragged stream.

He complied, his pace becoming punishing as his control frayed.

The world narrowed to the slap of skin, their mingled sweat, and the primal rhythm of their bodies.

That’s when she heard it. The soft click of the storage room door unlatching. Her eyes snapped open over Peter’s shoulder.

The door, which they’d only pulled closed, had opened a few inches.

Silhouetted in the crack of light from the bustling convention hall beyond were two young women.

One dressed as a female version of Peter in a way, a red bodysuit marked with fine white web patterns, the mask and design looking like a sleeker, more feminine take on Spider-Man’s costume.

The other wore an impressively accurate Black Cat costume, though the suit didn’t quite compete with Felicia in the chest department. And instead of Felicia’s white hair, the mask framed a halo of pale blonde.

They were frozen, eyes wide, hands clamped over their mouths.

They weren’t leaving.

They were watching.

A jolt, electric and terrifying, shot through MJ. Panic should have followed.

Embarrassment. Fury. But as Peter slammed into her again, striking a spot that made stars explode behind her eyelids, a different, darker heat flooded her veins.

Peter, lost in his own pleasure with his forehead pressed to her shoulder, hadn’t noticed a thing.

He doesn’t know, she realized. They can see everything.

Her gaze locked with the pale blonde Black Cat.

The girl’s eyes were huge, unblinking.

MJ held that stare. Deliberately, she let a slow, wicked smile curl across her lips.

She saw the girl’s breath hitch. Saw her nudge her friend, who then stared as well, transfixed.

She tightened her legs around Peter, pulling him deeper.

“Harder,” she commanded, her voice suddenly clear and strong. She never broke eye contact with the spectators.

“Fuck me harder, Peter. Make me scream.” For them was left unspoken.

He grunted in confusion but was clearly aroused by her sudden ferocity.

He obliged. His thrusts became brutal, animalistic. The boxes rattled violently.

MJ’s head lolled back before she **** it forward again, keeping her eyes locked on the girls.

She watched them watch her. Watched them see Peter’s hands gripping her thighs.

Saw them see the sheen of sweat on her chest. Saw them witness the raw, unfiltered act of their fucking.

The sensation was overwhelming.

The physical pleasure of Peter hitting her deepest, most sensitive places with relentless ****.

The psychological thrill of the taboo, of being seen in her most **** and powerful state.

The two sensations fused together as Peter relentlessly fucked her, her lower abdomen coiled together.

Her climax built rapidly, like a gathering storm. Her breaths turned to sobs. Her thoughts spiraled.

They’re watching…

They’re watching us.

She moaned out loud,”you’re fucking me so good, baby”. It wasn’t for Peter, but for their public. A confession. And a challenge.

The Spider-Woman’s mouth had fallen slightly open.

The Black Cat girl bit her knuckle.

That tiny voyeuristic detail was the final trigger. She became undone. MJ’s back arched violently away from the boxes. She bit into Peter's shoulder, trying to muffle the screams threatening to escape.

Her inner walls clenched around Peter in ruthless, rhythmic pulses, milking him desperately. The pleasure was seismic, blinding. And through the dizzying white haze of it, through the tremors wracking her body, she kept her eyes open.

As she felt Peter cum, she finally allowed herself to close her eyes. And when she opened them again after a moment, their audience was gone and the door was closed again.

-

“So let me get this straight. Your best orgasm ever happened while a bargain-bin version of me was watching at a comic convention?”

She tilted her head.

“I’m not sure whether I should be flattered, insulted… or just turned on, because the way you told that story was really hot.”

MJ snorted.

Felicia’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment. And then she raised an eyebrow.

“And apparently your pussy is so good it overwhelmed his enhanced senses?”

MJ shrugged. “What can I say? I do my kegels.”