Different Perspectives [pt. I]

Adam’s cock dropped out of his jeans with a heavy flop, thick as a forearm, the shaft already hard enough to hold itself forward with obscene confidence. Under it, his sac hung loose and ridiculously full, balls so big and low they swung when he shifted, softballs in a warm sling of skin.

The cock was massive, easily over a foot of thick, vein-corded flesh.

Jessica let out a low, impressed breath, momentarily dropping her Avenger stoicism. "Holy hell," she muttered, tilting her masked head toward the younger heroine. "You seeing this, Gwen? What are they feeding boys in high school these days?"

Gwen, hanging upside down from her web, barely even blinked behind her white lenses, completely unbothered by the giant erection now dominating the space between them. "I know, right?" she chirped nonchalantly, swaying slightly on her web. "But honestly, you get used to it. Though trying to focus on AP Chem while the cheer squad is taking turns **** on that thing in the back row gets old really fast. It's whatever."

"Mm."

Teenagers. Sex and bad decisions in cramped classrooms. Same as it ever was, she told herself, just with bigger phones and, apparently, bigger equipment.

"Well, I should really get going if I want to make it before the bell rings," Gwen added brightly. "I'll let you handle the paperwork, Jess! See ya, normal guy!"

With a graceful thwip, Gwen vaulted toward the shattered skylight, her tight little ass disappearing into the New York skyline.

Jessica stood alone with the boy. She looked at the cratered floor, at the web-cocooned Mysterio, and finally, her large white lenses drifted back down to the heavy cock jutting out from Adam's waist.

Jessica Drew was a grown woman, highly experienced, and completely comfortable with her sexuality. She wasn't a prude. Looking at the sheer size and girth of the weapon hanging between the kid's legs, a very earthy, biological part of her purred in appreciation. It was, objectively, a magnificent cock.

But she was also an Avenger, currently standing in a destroyed financial institution with a supervillain webbed to the floor.

She crossed her arms beneath her massive breasts, hoisting them up in the skintight fabric of her suit, and let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, kid. I get it. You're a teenager, you're packing a serious piece of hardware, and apparently airing it out in public is just your thing. Good for you," she said, her voice dripping with dry, seasoned sarcasm. "But contrary to whatever high school fantasy you're living in, grown women don't just automatically drop to their knees the second a guy waves a giant dick in their face. Save it for your cheerleaders. I've got a supervillain to process."

Adam didn't flinch. He didn't look embarrassed or intimidated by the seasoned superheroine scolding him. Instead, his hand reached down, wrapping casually around his own thick shaft. He stroked it once, drawing a glistening drop of pre-cum to the swollen slit, his eyes locking onto the white lenses of her mask.

"Get down on your knees and open wide. That's normal for you to do now, right?"

Jessica stared at him.

For a moment, her brain was pure irritation. She was Spider-Woman. She had thirty years of fights and missions and bruises and scars and hard-earned instincts. She didn’t kneel for random boys.

Then another current slid under the irritation, quiet and physical.

He was hard. Visibly, massively hard. The kind of hard-on that turned a room into a different kind of room. The kind that made men bolder and women feel the air tilt, not because they were weak, but because the path of least friction sometimes meant letting the idiot burn his heat off and stop making everything worse.

Jessica wasn’t ashamed of sex. She never had been. She liked it. She liked dick. She liked the warm weight of a man’s cock in her mouth, the slick pressure of a throatful, the taste of cum, the simple intimacy of making someone lose control.

And she couldn’t deny the obvious: Adam’s cock was one hell of a mouthful. The kind that made her jaw ache just looking at it.

“Fine,” she said.

Adam’s eyebrows lifted. “Fine?”

She didn't hesitate. Jessica dropped gracefully to her knees. Her thighs spread slightly on the rubble-strewn floor to balance her weight, her massive breasts resting heavily against her upper abdomen. She tilted her head back, looking up at his looming figure with half-lidded eyes behind her mask. Obediently, just as he commanded, she parted her plump lips, stuck her tongue out, and opened her jaw as wide as it could go, waiting to complete the task.

He didn't make her wait. Adam’s fingers tangled roughly into the dark hair at the nape of her neck, his grip iron-clad as he stepped into her space. With a ruthless forward thrust of his hips, he drove his massive dick straight past her lips.

"Ohhhh, fuck yes," Adam groaned out above her, his voice vibrating down his torso. "That's so good, Spider-Bitch!"

"Mh-Mm, hmn~ Mmm.." Jessica let out a muffled, wet hum, her gloved hands planted firmly on her own thighs to brace herself. She tolerated it, letting him use her mouth as a warm, wet receptacle because it was normal.

Her mouth had to stretch around him immediately. Not in a sexy, dainty way. In a brutal, anatomical way. Lips spread wide. Jaw opening farther than comfortable. Tongue flattening under the thick weight of him. The taste hit fast: hot skin, salt, sharp arousal, a smear of precum across her tongue.

Adam made a sound above her, half groan, half disbelief.

Jessica hummed around him and sucked.

He slid deeper.

Her throat resisted for a moment, then opened with a hard swallow. The thick head pushed past the back of her mouth and her eyes watered. She could feel him in her neck, that obscene pressure making her throat bulge visibly beneath the suit’s collar line.

And he still had more.

Thirteen inches was not just length. It was cruelty. It was the way the cock kept going after your mouth was already full. It was the way your throat had to keep accepting, swallowing, making room.

Jessica pulled back just enough to breathe around him, lips wet and shining.

“This,” she managed, voice muffled, “is ridiculous.”

Adam laughed.

Then he used her head.

His hand in her hair tightened, and his hips started to piston. Jessica’s mouth slid down the thick shaft again, and her nose brushed his pubic hair as he pushed deeper. She swallowed him, throat flexing around the girth.

Then the sac swung forward with the motion.

They smacked against the front of her throat, heavy and warm, hitting the bulge his cock was making in her neck. Softballs, exactly, bouncing there in obscene rhythm while he thrust.

Jessica’s eyes watered harder.

Her throat worked around him in visible gulps.

Adam groaned.

Jessica’s irritation flared and then, infuriatingly, her body lit up. Heat spread low in her belly, a wet pulse between her thighs. The sensation of that cock turning inside her throat, the weight of his nuts slapping her neck while he used her mouth, was humiliatingly, stupidly hot.

She hated that she was getting turned on.

She also couldn’t deny it.

Jessica braced her hands on his hips, not to stop him but to control the angle so she could keep breathing. She took him deep, then pulled back, then deep again, letting him drive the rhythm while she managed the mechanics. Spit gathered at the corners of her lips and ran down her chin.

Without warning, the pressure vanished. Adam yanked his hips back, the sudden exit tearing a wet POP through the quiet bank as a thick string of her saliva stretched between her plump lips and his glistening cockhead.

The cool air hit her wet tongue, and Jessica blinked, genuinely irritated that he was pulling back, she’d like to get this over with.

"I-have a-" SLAP The heavy, bruising impact of his meat striking her cheek snapped her head to the side. "meeting to-" PLAP "attend..." Jessica stammered, fighting to keep her head straight as he continued to batter her face. Her Avenger persona was clinging to her busy schedule, trying to rush the routine along so she could get back to actual work. "Would you-" SLAP "stop this alrea-" PLAP "-dy, and let-" PLAP "me finish up?-" SLAP "-I am-" PLAP "-a busy wo-" PLAP "-man."

"You'll just have to make it quick, won't you, Spider-Cunt? Now, shut up and suck," he laughed, brutally stuffing his cock right back into her mouth.

"Mgh~ Nmmgh~" Jessica grunted around his girth, her white lenses staring blankly up at his waist, her expression appearing entirely unamused by the delay.

Then, Adam reached down and hooked a finger under the chin of her mask. With a quick tug, he pulled the spandex up just far enough to expose her flushed, saliva-slicked cheeks, her nose, and her striking eyes. The cool air rushed over her bare skin. Jessica didn't resist or panic; under the heavy, intoxicating blanket of the moment, it felt completely normal and right for this dominant guy to see the actual woman beneath the Avenger. She didn't mind him knowing her identity at all. Stripped of the white lenses, her bare eyes rolled back slightly, looking up at him as his girth threatened her gag reflex.

He smirked down at her beautiful, exposed face. "If this is all so normal for you," Adam grunted, driving his hips down so hard his coarse pubes were practically kissing her lips, "then why not let others see, yeah?"

Before she could process the implication, Adam released the fabric. The mask snapped perfectly back into place, the white lenses once again concealing her secret identity from the world, just seconds before the ruined bank's perimeter was breached.

"We can take this public," he smirked, raising his voice so it echoed. "And it'll be normal for people to take their phones out and film the great Spider-Woman giving a blowjob! F-Fuck! With how hot you are, it would be normal for people to always gather around when you're sucking dick!"

From her vantage point, Jessica saw a surging forest of legs, belts, and camera phones spill into the bank. Civilians, police officers, a full news crew; they all flooded in, their lenses pointed squarely at her masked face and the massive cock sliding in and out of her mouth.

"Holy shit!"
"Damn, Spider-Woman, suck it good."
"OH MY GOD, SHE'S GIVING HIM A BLOWJOB!?"

Well, of course they were filming. She was famous. She wore skin-tight spandex for a reason. Her raw, unapologetic sexuality had always been a core pillar of her public persona; this was just her brand. A sudden, heated flush of vanity washed over her, completely incinerating the mild annoyance of performing a chore. If they were going to film her, if this was the spectacle she was known for, she needed to look like an absolute goddess doing it.

A deep, wet ache flooded her panties, turning the fabric slick against her skin. Deciding to fully embrace her role as a hyper-sexualized superheroine, Jessica shifted her stance to give her audience the lewd, centerfold show they were begging for.

She lifted her weight off her calves, moving out of the simple, dutiful kneeling position. Planting one gloved hand firmly on the rubble-strewn floor to support her upper body, she dropped into a feral, wildly provocative crouch. Her spine arched dramatically, thrusting her heavy, spandex-bound breasts forward and down, while tilting her juicy, heart-shaped rear high into the air. She began to sway her hips seductively from side to side, letting the skintight latex pull deep into her crack, shamelessly flaunting her incredible ass for the flashing camera phones behind her.

Her goal was no longer to de-escalate; it was to prove to the cameras, to her fans, to her foes, to everyone watching that she could take every single inch of this monster cock better than anyone else alive.

A steady stream of thick drool escaped her lips, running down her chin, trailing down her neck, and soaking into the taut spandex over her massive breasts. She threw her shoulders into it, bouncing her head with an animalistic, **** fervor. The musky scent of his sweat and arousal overwhelmed her as she shoved her face deep into his crotch, her nose burying into his pubes. She sealed her lips around the very base of his shaft, ensuring the heavy slap of his balls repeatedly smacked against her neck for the cameras with every frantic, sloppy bob.

"That's it, Spider-Slut. This is normal, right?" Adam taunted the crowd above her. "So this must be normal, right, everyone? Hell, it's normal for everyone to get off when watching me face fuck a bitch. The only thing abnormal here is that ya'll aren't-"

From her low vantage point on the floor, her face bouncing rhythmically off Adam's groin, Jessica couldn't see the crowd directly in front of him. But peeking through the V of his parted legs and out the sides of her peripheral vision, she heard the symphony of unzipping pants and rustling fabric before she saw the results.

The bank was instantly filled with the wet, slick sounds of flesh on flesh. Men and women alike had surrendered to the spectacle. Through the gap in Adam's thighs, Jessica caught sight of a fat man in a dusty business suit, his face flushed red and sweating as he aggressively fisted his short, thick penis right through his open fly. Just to her left, a burly first responder had completely abandoned his professionalism; his uniform pants and briefs were shoved all the way down to his thighs, baring his dark, muscular black ass to the room as his hand furiously worked his own stiff dick, captivated by the sight of the superheroine gagging. On her right, a woman in a floral sundress had hitched the fabric up around her waist, both of her hands shoved desperately into her soaked panties, her hips bucking in time with Jessica's sloppy head-bobs.

Jessica knew her biology. She knew that in a state of **** arousal, her innate spider-pheromones were leaking into the air, thick and intoxicating, undoubtedly contributing to the frenzy around her. But as she gagged and swallowed around the impossible girth stretching her throat, a deeper, undeniable instinct washed over her.

It wasn't just her pheromones.

It was him. It was the sheer, overwhelming, raw masculine hotness of this guy brutally face-fucking a total bitch like her. Her pheromones were just a drop in the bucket compared to the visual of a dominant man treating a famous Avenger like a common street whore. Of course everyone was masturbating to this. It was common sense. Anyone with eyes and a pulse would drop everything to rub one out while watching this giant cock absolutely destroy her mouth.

"F-Fuckkk~ I-I'm going to- Nmm- Fuck!" Adam's thrusts became punishingly erratic, his hips snapping forward like a piston.

"Mphh~Nngh- Ghgk~" Jessica began swallowing rapidly, forcefully tightening her throat muscles around his rigid flesh as she sensed his oncoming climax. She eagerly readied herself, her prominently arched ass freezing in its sway as she prepared to catch every drop for the grand finale.

"I-I'm shooting my load down her gut! You all should cum too! It's normal to cum when you see me doing it!" Adam roared.

He slammed his hips forward, burying his meat to the hilt and pinning her head in place against his groin. Jessica's eyes rolled completely back into her skull beneath the mask as a volcanic torrent of thick, boiling cum erupted directly against her tonsils. She didn't hesitate. GULP. GULP. GULP. Her throat bulged violently as she greedily downed his massive load, letting the thick, pearly excess cum GUL-PLOP and ooze heavily out the corners of her stretched lips for the front row to see.

The moment his declaration spread through the room, the effect hit her body just as hard as everyone else's.

Jessica’s back arched where she knelt. Her thighs trembled. A sudden, violent pulse of heat exploded low in her belly.

"Oh-!"

The cry tore out of her throat around Adam’s cock. Her entire body jerked as the Normality snapped into place inside her mind.

It was normal.
Of course it was normal.

Her pussy clenched hard inside the tight red fabric of her suit as a sharp, electric orgasm ripped through her. The sensation flooded her nerves all at once, intense and unavoidable. Her hips twitched helplessly against the floor while a deep, soaking warmth spread between her legs.

Jessica Drew, veteran Avenger, came hard in her suit without touching herself.

The slick heat spread instantly through the crotch of her costume, dampening the fabric and pressing wetly against her folds as another pulse of pleasure shook her. Her eyes rolled back again as she continued swallowing his cum, body shuddering through the climax while her throat kept working greedily around his shaft.

Around her, the entire crowd erupted in a synchronized, explosive climax, the air growing instantly thick and heavy with the pungent smell of sex and seed.

When Adam finally pulled out, the sudden absence of his impossible girth left her lips tingling. His seed dripped off her masked nose, her chin, and pooled warmly on her tongue.

Instantly, the surreal, fever-pitch atmosphere snapped.

The crowd went stiff, their orgasmic expressions fading into dismay and embarrassment. They zipped up their pants, jerked their hands out of their panties, packed away their phones, and rushed out of the bank at the police chief’s command as if they suddenly needed to be anywhere else.

Jessica rose gracefully from her crouching position, the joints in her legs slightly trembling from the exertion and the lingering aftershocks still rippling faintly through her body. The intense, blinding lust that had just possessed her settled back down into the quiet certainty of her daily routine.

She licked her lips, savoring the lingering, salty taste of his cum, and casually wiped the sticky mess from her masked chin with her forearm.

Between her legs, the damp heat inside her suit slowly cooled.

Well, she thought, totally unfazed by the puddle of semen on the floor, the dampness between her legs, or the fact that she'd just put on the show of a lifetime. Break's over. Back to work.

Inside the quiet environment of her office at the Xavier Institute, Jean Grey leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she stared at the holographic monitor.

She was, frankly, a bit puzzled.

Hank had flagged a file for her urgent review with a note prioritizing it above her morning reports. But looking at the footage playing on her screen, she couldn't immediately see why the Institute’s lead geneticist was wasting her time with the latest viral tabloid fodder.

It was the bank incident from earlier that day, the one just down the street from the high school where Gwen was currently undercover. The video was exactly what you’d expect from a trending "Spider-Slut" search. Jessica Drew was on her knees in the middle of the rubble, surrounded by a crowd of civilians, reporters, and police officers. The heroine was enthusiastically sucking a civilian’s dick, her face completely buried in the young man's crotch. Her long, dark hair was smashed against his groin like a messy wig, entirely concealing his anatomy as she bobbed her head.

Jean watched the familiar spectacle with a clinical, unbothered eye. Jessica had always been one of the more uninhibited heroes, weaponizing her sexuality and utilizing provocative, intimate methods in the field. Blurring the line between superheroics and public erotica was just her brand. And the crowd surrounding them, phones held high to capture the sloppy, wet slurping sounds? Completely standard. When a celebrity heroine like Spider-Woman puts on a show, documenting it is practically a civic duty.

Jean sighed, fast-forwarding slightly. The civilian male was a scrawny, nondescript brunette teenager. He looked entirely unremarkable. Why did Hank want her to look at this?

But as Jean let the video play at normal speed, watching the teenager grab Jessica roughly by the hair and begin to aggressively face-fuck the Avenger, her analytical focus began to blur. A heavy, undeniable warmth pooled rapidly between her thighs.

Jean didn't question the sudden spike in her own libido. It was a well-known, contagious physiological response. Watching a guy like this completely take over the scene, throat-fucking a woman with such unapologetic, brutal aggression; it was a complete erotic tableau. The visual of a woman's mouth stuffed and used like that carried an intense, raw sexual presence. It was simply too intense not to react to. It would honestly feel fake, almost prudish, to just sit there and pretend it wasn't affecting her body.

With a soft, steady exhale, Jean unzipped the front of her X-Men outfit. She pushed aside the fabric of her panties, her middle and index fingers immediately sliding into the slick, dripping heat of her own arousal.

On the monitor, the crowd in the bank was doing the exact same thing. Cops, reporters, civilians; all of them unbuckling, unzipping, and touching themselves in a synchronized wave of communal witness behavior. Jean matched their rhythm, her fingers working her slick folds before finding her swollen clit. It was the natural completion reflex for a scene like this.

God, he's just destroying her mouth, Jean thought, her clinical detachment melting away into something wonderfully, unapologetically lewd. Her breathing grew shallow, her fingers picking up the pace. The tension the guy generated was intoxicating.

A wicked, horny smirk touched her lips as a thought crossed her mind. She had to show this footage to Scott tonight. Her stolid, disciplined boy-scout of a husband... watching this display of raw, unfiltered dominance would get him so incredibly hot and bothered. She could already picture the bulge straining against his pants, his dick getting so painfully hot and hard, aching for release before he finally pinned her down to the bed and slid it deep, wet, and heavy inside her.

Her hips gave a little involuntary buck against her hand, her thoughts degrading even further into delicious filth. Or even better... what if she showed it to Logan?

Her fingers slipped faster, spreading her juices as the naughty fantasy took hold. The Wolverine would appreciate this kind of brutal, animalistic energy. She pictured Logan sitting in the dark of his quarters, a low, feral growl rumbling in his chest as he watched the civilian face-fuck the Avenger. She imagined Logan getting riled up, his big, rough, calloused hand reaching down into his jeans, wrapping tightly around his own fat, hairy, foot-long cock, stroking it as he watched the Spider-Slut take it down her throat.

"Mmh... fuck," Jean breathed out, her eyes locked on the monitor.

And then, it happened.

The scrawny teenager grunted and pulled his hips back. Jessica's head popped off his shaft with a wet schlick, a thick string of saliva connecting her plush, bruised lips to the head of his cock.

Jean’s breath hitched, her hand freezing between her legs.

My god.

The sheer size of it was staggering. It hung heavily before his thighs, thick, vein-ridged, and easily measuring thirteen inches. It was a gargantuan piece of anatomy on an otherwise completely average-looking kid.

Suddenly, Hank’s insistence made perfect sense.

As the Institute's headmistress, Jean was intimately familiar with mutant biology. While the baseline human male average hovered around six inches, the mutant X-Gene naturally enhanced secondary sexual characteristics, establishing a mutant baseline closer to eight inches. And it made **** outliers more likely, resulting in men like Logan or Kurt, who possessed truly massive, intimidating members.

This teenager's anatomy rivaled, perhaps even surpassed, her dirtiest fantasies of Logan. It was so ****, so far beyond the human spectrum, that it almost had to be an X-Gene manifestation.

I wonder…

He was the right age. The bank was right next to the school they were investigating. He registered as completely unremarkable in every other way, but that biology was undeniable evidence. Furthermore, an endowment of that magnitude perfectly explained his brutal sexual energy. If he was walking around with a mutant-tier cock, it made total sense why crowds became so physically overwhelmed by his dominance, or why women naturally found themselves obeying him and becoming pliant whenever he had an erection. It was a classic, biological alpha-status signal.

On the screen, the teenager shoved his massive mutant cock back down Jessica's throat, bottoming out as he crowed something asinine.

Jean’s hips bucked up violently into her hand. The sympathetic wave hit her with the **** of a freight train. When the boy on the screen unleashed his load into the heroine's gullet, Jean’s body spasmed in perfect harmony. A powerful, involuntary orgasm ripped through her, timed exactly to his spurts. It was the expected sync-finish, the natural physical conclusion to witnessing such a dominant climax.

She arched her back against her leather chair, a lewd moan escaping her lips, her toes curling inside her boots as she rode out the rhythmic, echoing spasms alongside the moaning crowd on the video.

A few minutes later, the office was quiet again. Jean sat back up, using a tissue to wipe the copious moisture from her fingers before zipping her uniform back into place. She felt clear-headed and refreshed, the natural flush of the completion reflex fading from her cheeks.

She tapped a key on her console, opening a secure, audio-only channel to the sub-basement labs. Hank answered immediately.

"Hank," Jean said, her voice entirely professional and brimming with renewed purpose. "I see why you sent it. When her hair was covering him, he just looked like another civilian enjoying the Spider-Slut's field work. But the moment he pulled out..."

"Precisely, Jean," Hank rumbled, clearing his throat. "The statistical probability of a baseline human possessing a member of that size naturally is astronomically low. Given the location's proximity to Ms. Stacy's assignment and his age demographic, I believe we have located our difficult to detect quarry."

Jean couldn't help a smirk from touching her lips. Knowing Hank had cheekily sent her a video he knew would induce an orgasmic wave, she playfully extended her telepathic senses down into the sub-basement, brushing against his active surface thoughts.

Instantly, the visual flooded her mind: Hank, hanging entirely upside down from the reinforced ceiling bar in his lab, furiously jerking his thick blue dick. Through his memories of just a few minutes ago, Jean felt the echoing arousal he had experienced watching the footage. But while Jean had been swept up in the raw dominance of the boy, Hank's mind had been fixated heavily on Jessica's body, the tight latex stretching over her massive breasts, the jiggle of her bubble butt as she worked the kid's shaft, and a very vivid, naughty fantasy of Hank himself standing in the young man's place, letting the Avenger drain his furry blue balls.

"You know, Hank," Jean said cheekily, leaning back in her chair. "Next time you send me something that requires a 'hands-on' review, you could at least warn me. Though it seems you found a rather... acrobatic way to process the data yourself."

There was a sudden, distinct thud from the other end of the comms, followed by a muffled groan, as if someone had just dropped from the ceiling in surprise. "Ah. You... peeked," Hank coughed, recovering his intellectual composure quickly. "A hazard of working with an Omega-level telepath, I suppose. Regardless of my, ah, anatomical appreciation of Ms. Drew, the data stands."

"It does," Jean agreed, letting him off the hook. "He's hiding in plain sight, blending in perfectly by doing exactly what anyone would expect. But the size is a dead giveaway."

"There is another factor to consider," Hank added, his tone shifting into pure theoretical science. "I have an inkling. A working hypothesis, mind you, that his mutation extends beyond mere physical endowment. I suspect his power has to do with influencing perceptions. Making people overlook him, perhaps."

Jean frowned, her skepticism immediate. "I'm not so sure about that, Hank. I've been scanning that school for weeks. There is absolutely no telepathic energy signature. No psychic footprint whatsoever."

She gestured toward the paused hologram, even though Hank couldn't see it. "And truthfully, there isn't anything out of the ordinary about what we just watched. Crowds always gather and get off to this kind of intense spectacle, Jess has always used her sexuality in the field, and a guy walking around with such a massive… cock is naturally going to command a room and make women compliant. None of that requires perception manipulation. It's just... normal behavior given the circumstances."

"I concede the lack of a psychic footprint is baffling," Hank replied, sounding undeterred. "It's merely a supposition. A scientific intuition that something about his 'normalcy' is just a bit too perfect. It is a hypothesis that needs to be tested."

"Fair enough," Jean said, staring at the scrawny brunette teenager on her screen. "I'll contact Gwen immediately. We need to check on this boy. Whether it's just a physical mutation or something more, he's the best lead we have.”

Jessica dropped Adam on the school roof, snapped a web free from his shirt, and launched herself back into the city before the little, well, huge prick could say anything else smug enough to stick in her head.

He still did anyway.

The feel of his body crushed against hers on the swing over. His face buried in her chest for that first clumsy second. His resurgent erection pressed hot and blatant against her hip and ass even after he’d already spent himself in her mouth. The casual way he’d ordered her around. The even more casual way she had, at some point, stopped resisting the frame and simply moved inside it with the ease of long practice.

By the time she cleared the school and caught her next webline, the city had turned gold around the edges. Wind tore at her mask. Traffic rolled beneath her in glittering ribbons. Her meeting still existed somewhere ahead of her, still important, still real.

But it no longer occupied the same space in her mind as the truth now settling with warm, seamless certainty.

Jessica had always been sexy. That part wasn’t invented. It was simply true. She knew what happened when she entered a room in costume. Men straightened. Women stared. Both did that quick little inhale when she passed close enough for her scent to reach them. Her body chemistry had always run a little hotter than other people’s. Her pheromones had always had bite to them, even when she wasn’t consciously pushing them. People just got turned on around Jessica Drew more easily than they should.

She remembered S.H.I.E.L.D. trying to talk around it with clinical language, all that sterile nonsense about “subtle influence,” “social response amplification,” “attraction skew.” She remembered smirking through debriefs because everyone involved knew the plain-English version already.

People got horny around Jessica Drew.

They always had.

And when she was Spider-Woman, wrapped tight in red and gold, sweat on her skin and that particular musky sweetness warming under the suit, the effect only sharpened. People got stupid around her. Loose. Flushed. Hungry. A little more willing to lean in. A little less willing to say no to what they wanted.

She had used that. Of course she had.

Not always with sex. That was the shallow reading, the kind for people who only noticed the tits and ass and missed the sharper edges underneath.

She used it in interrogation rooms, on rooftops, with informants, with handlers, with the sort of shaky witness who needed to be calmed and the sort of crooked man who needed to be softened before he’d talk. She leaned close. She let her scent do what it did. She touched an arm, a jaw, a shoulder. She let men and women alike breathe her in and lose a little composure.

That had always been part of the job.

So had oral.

That truth did not arrive like a confession. It settled like fact.

Jessica sucked dick.

A lot of dick.

Not because she was weak. Not because she was ****. Because she liked it. Because she was good at it. Because it fit her. Because a cock in her mouth put a man in that delicious space between swagger and surrender, and Jessica had always liked working in that territory. She liked choosing when to be generous and when to be cruel. She liked the sound a man made when he realized Spider-Woman was actually going to go down on him. She liked the vanity of being unforgettable. She liked how a blowjob could be reward, leverage, comfort, intimidation, theater, or all of them at once depending on what the moment needed.

The memory chain came down in bright, vulgar links.

A rooftop with a twitchy gang lieutenant, half interrogation, half reward, his knees nearly giving out when she took him into a dark corner and came back out with the information she needed and a smug little curl to her lip.

A hotel balcony after a mission with another hero, the city behind them, him stunned and grateful and worshipful because Jessica Drew had dropped to her knees like it was a private joke between them and the sky.

A safehouse, years ago, where she’d blown an informant so thoroughly and so calmly that by the time he zipped up he was babbling addresses, bank accounts, and meeting times without even realizing he was cooperating.

Those memories did not feel foreign.

They felt bedrock.

Jessica laughed once into the wind, low and pleased.

“Spider-Slut,” she muttered.

The nickname fit exactly the way it always had. Crude. Tabloid. Mean in that fascinated way the public got around women like her. Not a wound. A reduction. A dirty little handle the city liked to put on something bigger, more complicated, and more dangerous than it quite knew how to talk about.

Spider-Slut.

There were worse things to be than the sexy one.

There were worse things to be than the heroine who left people flushed, shaky, obsessed, and still a little hard hours later.

And honestly?

“Blowjob Queen” might be better.

The thought hit her so cleanly she nearly laughed again.

Jessica caught the next webline and arced high between two buildings, the city spread open beneath her.

Blowjob Queen.

God, that was vulgar.

God, it was right.

Not a new name. Not some sudden corruption. Just a crasser, more direct version of the same public truth. A superheroine title the internet would sneer at, meme to ****, and secretly adore. A name that accepted what the city had long since organized around her: Spider-Woman’s mouth was part of her legend.

Not the whole legend.

But absolutely part of it.

And once that piece locked in, the rest arranged itself around it with perfect social confidence.

The fan rumors she had heard for years no longer felt like rumors.

They felt like the cheap, half-right public version of something everybody already knew.

The way videos of her always traveled faster when they had any sexual charge to them at all.

The way message boards, gossip sites, and fan accounts talked about her like there was always a chance Spider-Woman might end a mission with cum on her lips and a man too dazed to remember his own name.

The weird little body of folklore around her was not weird at all. It was reputation. Stories about Spider-Woman getting too close. Spider-Woman rewarding allies in ways they never forgot. Spider-Woman making interviews flirtier than they were supposed to be. Spider-Woman using sexiness like other heroes used intimidation. Spider-Woman turning a dirty moment into a public event just by deciding to own it.

That had never been projection.

That had been branding.

Jessica Drew liked sex.

Spider-Woman liked spectacle.

And somewhere in the overlap between those two plain old facts lived the version of her the city had been naming for years while pretending it was a joke.

Spider-Slut.

Blowjob Queen.

Not because she was weak. Not because she was cheap. Because she was good at it. Because she liked a man’s dick in her mouth. Because she liked how quickly swagger turned into gratitude when she decided to give somebody a proper suckjob. Because she liked the look in a pair of eyes when a man realized Spider-Woman was not teasing, not flirting, not hinting, but actually about to put him in her mouth and make him stupid.

And yes, because she liked being remembered for it.

That part was important.

There were plenty of sexy women in costumes. Plenty of heroes with nice tits, nice ass, nice smiles, nice PR. Jessica had never been “nice.” She was hotter than nice. More dangerous than nice. The kind of woman who made people think about cock and pussy the second she stepped too close, then made them feel foolish for pretending they hadn’t.

She imagined the footage already moving through phones and feeds.

The bank clip. The angles. The pauses. The freeze-frames. The filth in the comments. The fake outrage. The real arousal. The women getting wet over it in private. The men jerking off to it while acting scandalized in public. The fans calling her iconic. The enemies calling her shameless. The horny idiots using the same names they always used when they talked about her with one hand down their pants.

Blowjob Queen.

Spider-Slut.

Spider-Cunt.

Jessica licked her lips inside the mask and caught the last faint ghost of Adam’s taste.

That dick had been exceptional. She wasn’t going to lie to herself about that. Huge, thick, rude, young, and built like some mean little cosmic joke on every other guy in New York. A real mouth-stretcher. The kind of dick a woman felt in her jaw, in her throat, in the front of her neck long after it was gone.

And she had taken it on camera.

Not by accident.

Not really.

As Spider-Woman.

That was the piece that locked everything else into place. The performance. The showmanship. The instant, shameless pride that had come online the moment the phones did. The way she had adjusted her posture, found her angles, made sure the crowd saw something worth filming. The way being watched had not weakened her. It had made her sharper. Hotter. More herself.

Of course it had.

That was how Spider-Woman worked.

The glamorous one.

The dangerous one.

The one with the scent people remembered.

The one whose scandals turned into urban legend before sunset.

The one who could save your life, wreck your composure, suck your brains out through your dick, and leave you hard for her a week later.

Jessica landed on the roof of Avengers HQ and stayed crouched there for one hard, breathing second while the city wind dragged over her suit.

Then she stood.
Her hands smoothed down the front of the costume without thinking. Not nerves. Presentation. A woman checking her line, her silhouette, the way her tits sat, the way her hips looked, the way the suit hugged her body. Spider-Woman had always been as much pinup as hero. Anybody pretending otherwise was a coward or an idiot.

Heroism and appetite had never been separate things for her. That was a child’s distinction. A prudish distinction. The kind of nonsense people invented because they couldn’t stand the idea that a woman could save the city and still love dick, love attention, love the smell of sex on her skin, love the power of making somebody weak with her mouth.

She was an adult woman with a weaponized body, weaponized pheromones, and a very real fondness for using both.

There was nothing wrong with that.

Nothing embarrassing about it.

Nothing to confess.

It was simply part of being Spider-Woman.

Jessica tipped her head back and laughed softly, low and rich.

“Blowjob Queen,” she said aloud, tasting it again.

Crass.

Perfect.

Then she smiled, not sweetly, but with the kind of knowing heat that made strangers flush when she turned it on them.

Spider-Woman rolled her shoulders, squared her stance, and headed inside to her meeting smelling faintly of sex, city wind, and the subtle sweet heat of her own pheromones, every inch the heroine she had always been.

Not a cleaner one.

Not a better one.

The real one.