MJ & Gwen

https://x.com/Minko\\\\\\\\_Sfw/status/1695804795494293643

Her teddy white pure white and her nylons were opaque black. Eyes were drawn to those stockinged legs, not because of the legs (lovely as they were) but because of the lone pop of colour provided to the ensemble via the electric blue high heels with their ballet ankle wraps.

Gwen Stacy was absolutely stunning. MJ didn’t think she was bi, but even she was blown away by her leggy, slender form; her slinky, hip-swaying walk; her stylish, punky hairdo; her come-hither eyes.

Mary Jane could not say why she selected Gwen from all the young women presented to her. Again, she wasn’t bi or anything (to her knowledge) and didn’t have a “type”. None of the girls “did it for her”, as it were. But there was something upon seeing Gwen’s face and name that triggered in MJ. Some distant fluttering in her soul, her essence. Something strange and transient she couldn’t put her finger on.

Her and Gwen Stacy - a woman she had never met - together, just felt right.

Never taking her eyes off her waitress, Gwen sauntered over to the booth, setting down a pair of drinks, before sliding across the leather seating to sit right next to MJ. A little too close. So close that MJ could smell Gwen’s perfume, gently floral with a mix of rain of a summer’s night. Subtle but inviting. MJ gulped.

If Gwen noticed her nerves, she didn’t say anything, simply smiling at MJ while passing her her vodka soda. Gwen had a bottle of beer for herself.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Watson.” Gwen said in a surprisingly casual, easygoing tone. MJ was expecting some manner of sultry purr to emanate from such a beauty.

“Oh, um… MJ. Please. A-and thank you.” MJ took a furtive sip from her drink, more to have something to do than anything else. “You, um, you don’t need to stay, you know. I am more than happy on my own.”

“The fun of the private booths is you get our company for the night.” Gwen returned, before taking a pull from her beer. A smirk came to her lips as she swallowed, eyes moving up and down MJ’s form, no doubt drinking her in the way MJ did to Gwen. “And I’m used to getting a lot of women callers on ladies night - I think it’s the hair - but we were all surprised when you requested me.”

“Well, I… I don’t do this sort of thing. Ever.” MJ replied, blushing as she realized Gwen was checking her out. “I don’t know any of the girls who work here. And I’m not looking for anything.”

“Anything…?”

“You know… uh…” MJ stammered, feeling like a fool again. Everyone knew her as supremely cool and confident. Was she so out of her depth tonight that she couldn’t string a sentence together? “I’m not into women. I’m not gay or bi. What you normally do here… I don’t want that.”

Gwen took the refusal better than MJ thought. A short nod before the blonde leaned back into the booth, taking another swig of beer. Despite her manner of dress and how she approached, there was nothing about Gwen that screamed “woman of the night”. A woman of inequity who sold her body for money. She seemed…normal, for the lack of a better word.

“Yeah, that’s cool.” Gwen said, throwing her legs up onto the tabletop. “We were told to do whatever to make the VIPs happy, so whatever you want Miss.” Another smirk came to Gwen’s face. MJ could already tell the wry expression was a common one for the younger woman. “Honestly, I already had plenty of ‘fun’ with the other guests downstairs, so taking a little break sounds nice.”

MJ sighed, the sound drowned out by the sounds of Gwen’s mirthful laughter and the ever-present background noise of the club. So consumed with her own nervousness,that MJ forgot that these girls weren’t just club girls and dancers. They were people, too. She shouldn’t be judging them based on how they made money, holding them at arm’s length like they were sex-addicted machines who were attempting to seduce her and jump her bones.

A silence followed between the two. Gwen didn’t seem to mind it, lounging in the booth and enjoying herself, but MJ just felt awkward and felt the need to engage her companion properly. With Gwen’s legs on the table, MJ couldn’t help but look at them, and especially the shoes. As somewhat of a fashionable woman herself, MJ couldn’t help but applaud the palette of Gwen’s outfit and how just the little touch of colour, such a striking colour, made it all work.

“So, do you do ballet, Gwen?” MJ asked, pointing at the telltale ankle wraps extending from her high heels.

“I used to. For years, ever since I was a kid.” Gwen explained. She went to take another drink from the bottle, only to find it empty. She pouted before setting it aside. “Haven’t done it in a while, truth be told. But I still got it. Every now and then, when I’m working the pole, I can just feel my body settling into the old motions.” Another smile came and went in a hurry, as Gwen drew inward and contemplative. “Sorry, sorry. Just thinking… wow. I haven’t practiced my ballet or the drums for a while.”

“You play drums?” MJ asked. Gwen kicking her legs up and stretching had created a bit of separation between their bodies, so MJ leaned forward towards her new companion. Gwen gave another toothy grin, nodding her head.

“Yep. Was in a band with my girl friends back home.” The smile held, turned brittle, and then vanished, Gwen’s lips folding into a bitter, forlorn line. Chin pressed down to rest on the top of her sternum and eyes furrowed, the sorrow on the poor girl was palpable. MJ always considered herself someone with a sympathetic ear and open heart for those in need and just could not help herself.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? How did you end up here?” MJ asked, as softly and gently as possible. Of course, when she meant “here” she meant her emotional state, but a part of her knew she was referring to Barely Legal as a whole.

Gwen took no offence to the possible faux pas, though. Her frown deepened as she kicked her feet from the tabletop, hugging her knees close to her chest, but her eyes did flick up to look at MJ.

“...My best friend died. Right in front of my eyes, actually. And that just sort of started this whole… downward spiral, where my entire life crumbled around me. My dad’s a cop, hardworking but well-meaning. We just started fighting. A lot. Same with my friends. My bandmates. I was angry all the time. At everything and everyone. I did and said a lot of things. I was hurt, but I kept hurting others. Lashing out. I felt so alone…”

The fact that Gwen could recite such a tragic tale with dry eyes was something else. MJ had just met the girl and she could feel the tears welling up. When Gwen fell silent and reticent again, MJ reached a hand and placed it atop the young woman’s own.

“Is it okay if I hug you, Gwen?” She asked and, to her surprise, earned another sly smirk from the blonde.

“Hey, don’t get so mushy on me. I’m… okay. Amazingly.” Gwen lowered her legs back down off the seat, sitting straight up and proud. “I’m okay.” She repeated, firmer and more confident. “I was kind of wandering in the darkness when I came here, to Port Reyes.” A smile came to Gwen’s face, not confident or cockiness, but something warm, affectionate. Dreamy and lovelorn. “My Master…”

MJ felt something catch in her throat she blurted out. “‘M-master’!? Like… what Daenerys Targaryen talks about?” Once again, she felt so stupid. Why was she bringing that up? Why was she so obsessed with that woman and her deranged philosophy?

“Not exactly.” Gwen brushed it off casually, eyes and face returning to her more cool expression, as if she knew she looked like a starry-eyed, lovesick puppy. “I mean, I don’t really believe the whole ‘women are meant to serve men’ thing, but I know I am meant to be his. He found me, he helped me. Healed me. I have friends and a home now.”

“Okay…” MJ wasn’t about to get into the nitty-gritty of Gwen’s relationship. How it sounded way too codependent and toxic and like this poor girl was being manipulated. She wasn’t going to judge Gwen. Yet. “But… Master? Like you’re his ****? That sounds a little too radical for me to swallow. Like… I keep hearing that nowadays, it’s just a little hard for me to wrap my head around.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that not only does Master own me, but this club and every girl who works for him.” Gwen said, adding a teasing, needling tone to her voice. Her eyes lit up when MJ gasped and looked shocked at the revelation. “He has so many women to his name, but he loves each and every one of us.”

“And you’re okay with working at the club. Being a waitress and dancer and…”

“‘Whore’?” Gwen finished for her. “Prostitute. Slut. Yeah, I mean, it’s not my favourite thing in the world. I don’t know what I want, but I’ll do anything the Master wants of me. I just want to be with him. Forever and ever…”

Already, MJ got a decent feel on Gwen’s character. She was cool, confident, a little detached. A bit of a tease, kind of mischievous and packing plenty of snark. So even if she barely knew the girl, seeing someone like that speak so earnestly and passionately about something - even if it was the man who owned her - was quite profound. For a moment, MJ really believed Gwen was in love with this mystery master and that their relationship was healthy and okay.

And she could have said a myriad of things in regards to why it was bad and why it was distasteful and wrong. But that wasn’t MJ’s place, to lecture a young woman she had just met. And who knows? Like she said, these master-**** relationships seemed to be everywhere in Port Reyes. Maybe it was a fad? Maybe it was a new trend? Maybe there was more than she was seeing out in the open?

The two continued to talk well into the evening, losing track of time. MJ felt a spark of something with Gwen. She was smart and quick-witted. Funny, in a deadpan and sarcastic sort of way. When she spoke or moved, it was with total confidence in herself. All admirable traits in such a young woman.

Using the tablet at the table, Gwen got another of her fellow girls to fetch them more drinks, as nothing went better with stimulating conversation than ****. And as the two drank more and more, their lips grew ever looser. MJ told Gwen all about Rob, feeling slightly embarrassed that she was pouring her heart out to a woman almost twenty-years her junior, but Gwen egged her on and once she started, there was nothing stopping MJ. She told her about how good it felt to reconnect with him after so many years. About how good a lover he was, about her suspicions of his magic dick. About how she had recently fallen into the Slutter rabbit hole, her obsession with Daenerys, and how maybe she wanted to try a little bit of that master-**** stuff.

“Does it feel good!?” MJ asked, loudly, her voice amped up due to the loudness of the music and the **** in her system. “To call him ‘Master’ and all that when you’re fucking?” MJ was swaying and slurring in her seat. Gwen seemed much more stable and sober, even as the lithe girl matched her drink for drink

“The best! Nothing compares to giving yourself wholly over to a man you love. I can’t speak for roleplaying since I am a good girl sexslave, but I bet even then you’d enjoy it.”

For her part, Gwen felt the buzz to get up and move as the night went on. She hopped up onto the table top and danced for MJ, astoundingly elegant and graceful upon her heels. She mixed in lewd gyrations and class ballet moves, transitioning between the two with ease, MJ staring up at her, eyes trace the curves of her body, the shape of her rears, and those amazing legs.

And then, someway, somehow, MJ ended up laying flat across the leather seating with Gwen atop her, the two drunk women making out. She couldn’t say when or how it happened, all she could remember was something caused Gwen to pounce on her, pushing her to a vertical position. In her eyes, Gwen’s hunger shone through the haze of inebriation, as her hands and mouth got to work on MJ’s body.

Nimble fingers undid her halter top and unbuttoned her pants, offering Gwen better access to Mary Jane Watson. In between soft kisses on her pale, freckled flesh, Gwen offered a few lustful murmurs about how beautiful MJ was. Her hands navigated to her waist and below, taking measure of broad, shapely hips, bountiful rear, and thick thighs, as well as tempting MJ’s sex by unzipping her leather pants and ever so gently touching the crotch of her pants or the front of her underwear. Gwen’s mouth set down a rain of kisses across MJ’s body. Lines of them drawn up and down her collarbone or neck or jawline, her lips soft and warm on her flesh. Harder, firmer kisses fell to MJ’s heavy, large breasts, Gwen’s tongue and teeth flicking over her pink nipples until they grew hard.

Confused and horny and oh so happy, MJ practically melted into the booth seating of her private table, thankful that the club’s stereo system would drown out her moans. While she had repeatedly claimed tonight to not be into women, Gwen Stacy was hardly the first woman she had experimented with. Her early twenties in the modeling industry were a supremely hedonistic time of her life and she had had sex with plenty of women while high on fame or **** or peer pressure.

She never remembered them being as truly joyful and pleasurable as Gwen was doing to her. Her lips were so soft and inviting, MJ wanted to kiss them and never break away. Her tongue proved to be every bit as long and sinuous and graceful as her legs. And as beautiful as Gwen looked from afar, she felt even better up close. MJ’s hands felt thick and clumsy in her drunken, lustful daze, but even they were up to the task of running over Gwen’s perfectly sculpted body and feeling the heavenly silken texture of her bunnygirl costume.

And the entire time, MJ couldn’t help but imagine Rob sitting right next to her, watching the entire thing. How much he would enjoy watching MJ and Gwen play with one another. Maybe one night, they could come together and they could “rent” Gwen for the evening and all three of them could share in the fun. MJ felt no ill feelings about hiring this girl who happily proclaimed herself a ****. At the very least, the money she spent would go to Gwen.

After an infinity of Gwen ravishing MJ, the blonde pulled away and reared back, pushing up and away from the redhead by the strength of her arms. She loomed over MJ, straddling her hips, as the drunken model could only mewl helplessly. Wanting more, she fluttered her eyes and licked her lips, inviting Gwen back down. Gwen smirked once more. The confidence - no, the arrogance as worn well by the young woman. It gave her a power and sexiness that made her all the more enticing.

“So, this has been a lot of fun, but you’re the guest of honour tonight, and I would hate to hog you all to myself.” Gwen started, another mischievous twinkle blooming in her eyes. “How about we join the party downstairs? It’s late enough that I bet things have gotten really wild…”

MJ was in no state of mind to say no to anything Gwen Stacy had to offer, so all she could do was smile blankly and nod dumbly. “Ya-huh. Let’s go then…”

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One thing I have definitely noticed with this story, is that I very easily fall into a three-chapter structure for arcs and events and whatnot. Chapter one "Rob meets the girl". Chapter two "Rob plays with/bullies/enslaves the girl". Chapter three "Rob fucks the girl". And even though Rob doesn't fit into this particular arc, I have done the exact same thing just with MJ instead! There's nothing wrong with that structure other than it might get repetitive, but it's just funny how you don't notice your own patterns while your deep into them.