The Convocation of Mary Jane Watson

To Miss Mary Jane Watson

I hope this message finds you well and I apologize for the suddenness of my request. My name is Zee Annataz and I am manager at Barely Legal, a local club in Port Reyes. Next week, we will be holding a private, invitation only event for various influencers and have recently learned of your stay in our city. On behalf of club ownership, I am delighted to invite you to our exclusive event. Our staff are very big fans of your work and we would be thrilled to have you in attendance.

Whether you wish to attend or decline, or have any questions regarding the event, please contact me at your earliest convenience.

It is my personal wish to see you at the event.

Thank you for your time.

Zee Annataz

General Manager, Club Barely Legal

That was what the email said. Even though MJ had read it a dozen times and understood the literal meanings of the words on screen, none of it made any sense to her.

How had it come to this?

Well, after being in Port Reyes for over a month, the deadline to MJ returning to New York was fast approaching. She was debating trying to finagle her way to stay on the West Coast a little bit longer or, barring that, asking Rob to come to NYC with her (he definitely had the money to rent a place, after all). And that was because… MJ was still stuck on his dick. She wasn’t saying she was obsessed or addicted or anything, and she was very happy that even with her slide in depravity their relationship hadn’t just devolved into mindless sex. MJ deeply cherished her rekindled friendship with her childhood friend, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t afraid what would happen if she and Rob (and his magic dick) were isolated on opposite coasts.

Speaking about her slide into depravity, MJ’s found her body still running hot on nights she wasn’t with Rob. Sweaty, sleepless nights followed on those evenings, unless she relieved the pressure, so to speak. Masturbation became part of MJ’s daily ritual, an almost karmic twist after gently needling Rob about men and their need to frequently stroke themselves. She also found out that, unless she wanted to spend fruitless, frustrating hours touching herself, her body and mind needed audiovisual stimulation to assist in fully getting off. So that meant more Slutter videos, much to her dismay. Daenerys Targaryen, the Stark Sisters, Nami, Tifa, Aerith, Asami Sato and more filled MJ’s regular rotation (though, pointedly, she stayed far away from ugh… Cho Cocksucker; she still had some principles, thank you very much). Hell, she had even broke down and gone to a Fantasy Factory to purchase some sex toys to help in her newfound hobby.

And now she was being invited to a private party at a strip club/brothel! Just what had happened with her life?

An “influencer” event. Just what sort of influencers would be attending an event held at a location like Barely Legal? Not the usual crowd MJ was used to running with, that’s for sure.

But, an invitation was still an invitation, and MJ was flattered by the offer…

“Is my curiosity going to get the better of me again?” MJ said to herself, staring at her laptop screen, flashing back to her conversation with Rob that led her down the Slutter rabbit hole.

She furrowed her brow before checking the schedule app on her phone. She had nothing planned for that evening and, as a matter of fact, Rob had mentioned he would be busy that evening. An hour or two of free food and drinks sounded better than whatever else she could scrounge up on an evening to herself. Plus, if things took a turn she wasn’t okay with, she could always duck out early, a tried and true industry challenge.

After a glass of wine to build her courage, MJ responded to Miss Annataz in the affirmative.

After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

/////

MJ arrived outside Barely Legal in standard incognito female attire - a long beige trench coat, big black sunglasses, and a kerchief over her forehead to pin down her hair. If anything, it made her look only more conspicuous, she looked like she had stepped right out of a movie from the 1960s, but she was pretty sure even if a passerby stared at the oddly dressed redhead for a long while, they would struggle to clearly identify her.

She hoped.

Exiting her Uber, she immediately saw the message “CLOSED FOR PRIVATE EVENT” written on the marquee, black letters on white board with flashing lights changing colours, making it visible up and down the street. A couple of other bars and clubs populated the street, evidently opened to the public and drawing the majority of attention away from Barely Legal. Still, closed to the public or not, the large video screens mounted around the front doors at street level still advertised their normal line-up of girls - rotating like an arcade cabinet attract screen - and MJ was reminded that “Barely Legal” wasn’t just a name, but the whole gimmick. She had at least glanced at each of these girls on Slutter and knew that all of them were between the age of eighteen or twenty. Their youth was the appeal, the draw, and apparently it was a successful enough gimmick to sell-out, night after night.

The thought of these young women… “performing” like that made her queasy, almost enough to call it quits and turn around, but she just grimaced and soldiered on.

The doors were locked, because of course it was, leading to MJ pressing the door buzzer for entry. In the initial wake of the echoing buzzer, MJ impatiently bounced on her feet, time seeming to stretch interminably. She was hoping that - someway, somehow - they had forgotten about her or couldn’t hear the buzzer over the noisy club floor. That she could use this as an excuse to turn away for the evening and walk away.

Alas, luck was not on her side tonight. The door opened, revealing a gorgeous woman with luscious black hair dressed in a sharp pantsuit, waiting for MJ with a welcoming smile. There was something about this woman that actually caused MJ to shirk backwards, almost feeling intimidated by her presence. Whether it was her dazzling beauty, the scintillating intellect that radiated from her dark eyes and sly smile, or something more intangible and dangerous, she was left in awe of the aura of this woman.

“Miss Watson. Thank you for attending our little event on such short notice.” The woman said warmly. “I’m Miss Annataz, though you can call me Zee. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah, yes… you too, Miss Anna - Zee…” MJ stammered out, shaking the hand of the woman. “You can just call me MJ, too.”

“But of course.” Another inviting smile, before Zee gestured her head to the interior of the club. “Shall we go inside? I can take your coat. And glasses. And… headscarf?” She gave a quizzical look to MJ’s unique accessories, and MJ felt like a complete idiot. She was having huge misgivings about all of this…

Still, she accepted the invitation, stepping beyond the threshold and into the coatroom, where MJ took off her coat and accessories, revealing her black halter and matching leather pants. Hey, however nervous she was about tonight, she was still going to do her best to look amazing.

Zee happily took all of her accoutrements and stashed them away safely, before turning back to say, “Now, would you follow me for the tour? You’re actually the last of our VIPs to arrive.”

“Oh, you don’t really need to do that for me.” MJ tried to demure, even if she was just a bit curious over this whole operation.

But Miss Zee Annataz would not be denied and MJ was not immune to flattery or obstinance. “I insist. You’re our guest of honour, after all.”

MJ was no stranger to the club scene. Through her years in the modeling world, she had probably been to hundreds of different nightclubs around the world, and they were all mostly the same. Barely Legal fell within those parameters at first blush, which admittedly made her squeamishness look a little puerile. Loud, bass-filled music boomed from the speakers, drowning out every sound. Darkness shrouded the majority of the club floor, with strips of neon lighting providing enough for a person to guide their way through the floor, while the spotlight around the stages stood out like an oasis in the desert of darkness. The private party was already in full-swing, as MJ was led across the floor by Zee, with numerous girls dancing on the stages or polls, while others strutted around the crowded floor with trays of drinks, clad in scandalous playboy bunny outfits. Still others were… ahem, “attending” to the various VIPs who were nestled in their booths.

The name of the game of clubs like this was a combination of sensory deprivation and sensory overload. The noise was overwhelming. The darkness, debilitating. With her dark pantsuit, MJ could barely see Zee before her, yet her eyes were drawn away to the booths and stages, the most illuminated areas of the floor. Girls in bunny suits that accentuated their forms serving and fawning. Girls in lingerie and stripper-wear dancing and gyrating. She tried not to linger on anyone or anything for too long, lest she catch someone else’s attention. From first blush, Barely Legal appeared clean and straightforward and on the up-and-up, far from the skeevy dive MJ imagined, but she still had a bad feeling about a place that pimped out such young women…

And then, on her second or third glance around the floor, MJ realized something. Everyone here - not just the workers, but the VIPs, too - were women.

Over in the middle of the floor, the Olympic weightlifter, Aleksandra Zaryanova, was shimmering beneath the stage lights, totally nude and glistening with body oil, posing and looking like a Greek statue made of marble, the shimmering oil highlighting each and everyone of her massive muscles. Two Japanese girls of considerable (but lesser) bulk, one brunette and one redhead, were spreading and rubbing the oil all over Zarya’s body, palms gliding against the Russian’s skin while also grinding their bodies together, exulting the divine form of the weightlifting champion.

“Oh, Miss Zarya, you look so wonderful…” The redhead praised, dreamily, MJ straining to hear them over the din of the club. “How did you ever get such perfect muscles?”

“Diligent training and dieting, my malen'kiye milashki.” Zarya said, smiling down at her two affectionate masseuses. Zarya dropped her massive arms and wrapped them around the waists of the two girls, pulling them towards her. “It is a long and arduous journey, but I can always help you with your training.”

“Oh gosh…” the brunette blushed and stammered. “I don’t know. I don’t think I would look as good as you with all of those, big… hard… sexy muscles…”

“Don’t be so modest, Makoto!” The redhead replied to her friend. “You have those huge tits, thick thighs, and a nice figure. You would look great, totally jacked.”

“Indeed…” Zarya purred, licking her lips, as she loomed over the two younger women. “And now that I am sufficiently oiled up, how about we start with some light… wrestling, da?”

Elsewhere, the CEO of Slutter herself, Asami Sato, was reclining in one of the booths, surrendered by her two blonde bombshell girlfriends, the dark-skinned Korri and the inexplicably green-skinned Shulkie. They had one of the girls dancing on their tabletop for them, Asami watching with a fixed, unblinking gaze and rapacious leer.

“My, my, my… aren’t you a lovely sight…” She said to the dancing girl. “I do like my pets to be dumb and slutty, I think you would be perfect. How would you like to come work for me, Miss Cocksucker?”

“I’m totally flattered and everything, Miss Sato, but I’m gonna have to say ‘no’.” The infamous and shameless Cho Cocksucker said, not breaking stride in her lewd dance for a moment as she spoke with Asami. “You’re super hot and all, but I’m way too young and fresh on the scene to be saddled to one person. But, hey, my friend Ginny is my pimp and manager. So, if you wanna hire me out for the night or something, just give her a call, ‘kay?”

Asami chuckled at the suggestion and the idea that formed in her head, eyes flashing as she took a sip of wine. “Only if you go blonde for me, okay cutie?”

Then, elsewhere still, was her. Wearing only black leather platform boots and her silver hair brushed to a metallic sheen, radiating under the low light condition, Daenerys Targaryen was eagerly chatting with the lovely Sansa Stark.

“A pity you cannot drink, Sansa.” Daenerys said. “Conversation is always so much better with a bit of wine.” One of Daenerys’ hands reached over to Sansa’s belly, rubbing it, with Sansa taking a hand to match the position and motion.

“A small sacrifice to keep Master’s child hale and healthy.” Replied Sansa, earning a smirk from her companion.

“Ah, yes. The ultimate form of female submission. Literally shackling your body to your man. I cannot wait for the moment the Master blesses me the way he has the two of you.”

At that moment, MJ realized there was a third woman at that booth. A slight brunette was on her hands and knees, face buried in Daenerys’ crotch, doing… well, it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what Arya Stark was doing, especially when Daenerys yanked her away by the hair, Arya gasping, tongue lolling out of her mouth languidly.

“And, once more, I have to compliment you on the splendid job you did training your bitch of a sister.” Daenerys sneered. “Women are inferior to men, but some women are even more inferior…”

“I’m just happy I found a use for Arya and she can finally make others happy instead of being a loud, rowdy bother.” Sansa said, smiling beatifically down at her younger sister. “Isn’t that right, Arya?”

“Ah… yes Sansa! It’s right! You’re always right! I’m so happy to serve you and anyone else you want!”

MJ had paused dead in her tracks to take in the scene playing out around her, agog not just at the all the sex taken place so brazenly (which is what she expected from an establishment like this) but just who these VIP influencers were. Nami and Tifa and Aerith and Sombra, Dr. Mercy and her nurses, even newcomers to her rotation like Jean Grey and Ororo Munroe - it was all the women she followed on Slutter and used as JO material! It was like all of those sleepless nights and **** fantasies had fused together into one carnal montage, playing out all around her.

So wrapped up in the sight of all of these beautiful women, gawking like a total idiot in the middle of the floor, that MJ didn’t realize that Zee had left her behind. Nor that she had returned with another girl.

“Enjoying yourself, are we?” Zee asked with mischievous glee. MJ was so sucked into the sights around her, she jumped in start from the sound of her hosts’ voice. Then, she quickly realized how zoned out she was and began blushing profusely, thinking everyone would be gawking at her in turn. Instead, it seemed that everyone - guests and workers - were going about their business, as if MJ wasn’t there.

“Uh… sorry, sorry!” MJ replied when she finally got her wits back. “I’m just not used to this… scene…” She said in the most diplomatic manner she could manage, while also keeping her eyes away from Daenerys and the others.

A cool, enigmatic smile came to the lips of her host, her dark eyes flashing with knowing that sent a shiver down MJ’s spine. Still, Zee was nothing less than the perfect, accommodating host. “Well, if you would like to join the festivities, I’m certain our other guests would love to meet you.” She motioned across the wide floor of the club and MJ blanched at the thought of approaching any of these women. Women who, again, she had been masturbating to quite frequently. It was beyond intimidating and mortifying.

Zee seemed to read MJ’s apprehension quite well, as she gestured to the young woman beside her. “Or, if not, you’re more than happy to unwind with whatever your poison may be.” The girl held a tray that was covered in various **** and **** paraphernalia, the sight of which caused MJ’s eyes to bug out. “Normally, it is against policy for our girls to consume anything beyond ****, but tonight’s a special night and we’ve loosened restrictions for them and our special guests. We’ve required a number of wonderful mind-altering **** and aphrodisiacs for that purpose.”

MJ could feel her heart hammering away in her chest, her mouth going dry, and her throat clenching up. The tiny, colourful pills with the letter “E” carved into the surface. The delicate baggies of fine white powder. It took her back to the wild, heady days of her early twenties. The world of hedonism and mindless sex was not entirely a stranger to her, but she just thought she had put them far behind her.

Once more, though, Zee seemed to read her mind. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the girl and her tray of ****, before saying, “Perhaps you would like a quieter, slower pace to start your evening. I can take you upstairs to the private booths. No one is on the second floor right now, and it will let you settle yourself in before long.”

“Yes!” MJ said, suddenly. Too fast, and too eager. She caught herself, cleared her throat and said in a much steadier tone, “Yes, please, Miss Annataz. I could use some time to…acclimate. If that’s okay.”

Another wondrous and enigmatic smile came, as Zee Annataz served as her guide once more, gliding along to the perimeter of the ground floor and up one of the main staircases to the second floor balcony. There, nestled along the walls and corners, were a series of plush, lush booths that gave MJ a bird’s eye view of the floor, while granting her near total privacy from any onlookers below. Or, that’s at least what Zee claimed.

“Now, whenever you’re ready, you can call any of the girls for any assistance or company you desire.” Zee explained after MJ settled in, gesturing at the tablet built into the tabletop. “Any girl you would like. You are the guest of honour, after all. And, anything you order is on the house - no, Miss Watson, I won’t hear it. You’re our guest tonight.” Zee countered when MJ went to offer another bit of polite denial.

With that said and done, Zee excused herself to attend to other business, leaving MJ all alone in the booth. The pounding music drowned out whatever chatter came from the other women below, but she could still make several of them out due to their hair colour and their dress, or lack thereof in some cases.

But, despite having such a vantage point, it wasn’t the most stimulating activity. Sure, she could look down on all the beautiful women that fueled her rampant sexual imagination, but it was far less thrilling than being on the ground floor and only feet away from them. And now, if she was going to try to make a quick getaway, it seemed she was stuck in a more awkward position than before.

Her eyes flicked to the tablet and then her finger flicked down the roster of girls, the page scrolling through headshots and brief profiles of the twenty-odd girls that worked at Barely Legal. Well, if she was going to be stuck here for the time being, a drink and some company didn't seem like the worst things in the world…

////

And we are back! Did not intend to take that little holiday hiatus, but it is at least fitting with return with the latest focus on MJ, seeing as she is our through-line during this portion of the story.

I will say, part of my absence has been my feelings with the story. I don't intend to stop or finish up anytime soon, don't worry about that. There's still a lot I want to do and girls I want to feature - the Avengers, the Justice League, the Disney Princess, the Breeding Games, the Slut Academy, our Create-A-Daughter. But as things are growing longer and longer I find myself being daunted by this story. I was debating actually ending it at the climax of this part and starting fresh with a new story, "The World According To Rob Daily".

But I think part of my hesitancy is I don't have any definitive plans for what we do after the climax of this part. I have idea of what I want to do, but I don't have any concrete order. I'm unsure if I want to have Rob jump into a major conquest right away, or hold off on it. I don't know if I want to move at a slower pace and focus on a few of the girls, or go right back to collecting and enslaving. And, honestly, I am a little worried that once the daughters and Academy enter the picture, they might take things over and the story might spiral out of control.

But, right now, I am feeling good about things again. I was very productive this week and am happy with what I have written and the direction of everything. I think I just need to take it one chapter at a time and build from there.

Now, if you read the latest "Rob's World" chapter, you might be able to guess who MJ picks, but otherwise, I'll leave the rest of you in the dark for now.