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You are desperate. Desperate like you have never been before.
No matter what you try, you just can’t get there. Your fingers, your vibrator, porn. None of it is helping. It doesn’t feel real.
Your core aches so much it hurts. The coil inside of you builds and builds, but then.. nothing.
You can’t cum.
You have brought yourself to the edge so many times, you’ve lost track. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you squirm on top of the bed in desperation.Throbbing and sore, your pussy begs for release. Something, anything to get you off.
You curse your past self for ignoring your needs. School has been kicking your ass for weeks. And with any spare moment you have dedicated to studying or sleeping and stress wielding a hold on your mind, you simply did not have the time for other needs. And now you regret it.
Who would have thought that after weeks of not touching yourself that you would not be able to get off? Certainly not you. And you vow to never forget it from this moment forward.
You sigh heavily. Your hands draw to your face to wipe away the frustrated tears. At this point, you are too stressed out to continue, giving up to try again another time despite how much you need it.
When your phone vibrates on the nightstand, you reluctantly pick it up. You might as well calm yourself down if you aren’t going to be able to finish.
Upon checking your messages, you see a text.
Peter.
[Petey] I’ll be over at 7 to watch the movie.
You check the time.
Fuck. 7:02.
He’ll be here any minute.
Throwing off the covers, you quickly scramble to find your clothes. Your body is covered with a sheen layer of sweat, but you don’t have time to shower. So you spray a couple clouds of misty body spray and hope that Peter doesn’t think you smell bad.
You struggle to pull on your clothes as the material clings to your skin, holding onto the dresser tight with white knuckles to slide your jeans over your thighs. You hardly have your pants pulled up when you hear a rhythmic knock on the door of your apartment.
Shuffling out of the room, you peer into your roommate’s bedroom, suddenly very aware that you share an apartment with another person. You let out a sigh of relief. It’s empty. You don’t know how you would be able to explain if she had heard your numerous unsuccessful attempts to please yourself.
When you swing open the door, Peter immediately files in ranting about some guy that almost made him have to suit up and be late for the movie. You chuckle at your heroic best friend lightly and follow him to your room, closing the door behind the two of you once inside.
You go over to the dresser the tv is sitting on to look for the remote, but you can’t seem to find it. “Hey, Pete. Do you see the remote anywhere?”
You are met with silence. When you turn back around, he’s standing an arm’s length away from you. His eyes are blown wide and his breathing is a bit unsteady as his gaze is fixated on your face. You know he’s not winded from walking up the stairs, he’s Spider-man after all, so what’s got him so worked up?
“Are you okay?” you ask, worry filling your mind at his difficult to read expression.
“Um,” he finally tears his eyes off of you like it physically pained him to do so, scanning the room quickly. “Fine. I’m fine.”
You arch your brow at his peculiar behavior, studying the way his gaze stops almost on you again, just slightly to the left.
Wordlessly, Peter walks over to the dresser but stops right in front of you so you are standing to face to face. The backs of your legs are pressed against the wooden piece of furniture as he stands inches away from you, his breath coming out in labored puffs fanning across your skin. You gulp. Peter stretches his arm behind you, his limb practically caging you in as he reaches for the dresser.
Pounding in your chest, your heart thumps uncontrollably being this close to him. You can see every freckle, every perfect imperfection of his face. His head dips as he stretches, and your lips almost brush against each other right before he pulls back with the missing object in hand.
“I found it,” he whispers, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he places the remote in your hand. Peter’s eyes never leave your face, and you’re starting to wonder if you’re not the only one imagining the tension in the air. He mumbles so quietly you can hardly hear him. “Y/n?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I- can I ask you something?”
You lick your lips, taking a ragged breath. The close proximity of his face to yours is starting to reignite the longing stir in your core. “Anything, Pete.”
“You know my powers-“ he stops to scan your face, his big brown eyes flickering with a look you’ve never seen before.
“Yeah,” you nod. “What about your powers?”
“Well, um-” He clears his throat. “-everything is heightened. My senses, they can pick up on things normal people can’t.”
You tilt your head a little, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “What are you getting at, Pete?”
Peter inhales sharply, blurting out the truth he’s been dancing around. “I can smell you, y/n.”
Your eyes widen. Your start to feel small under his heavy stare as your heart thunders in your chest. If he can smell the sweat on you, why does he look like he’s about to pounce on you?
And then it dawns on you.
At that same time, Peter takes another step closer to you. “I can smell you,” he emphasizes.
Swallowing hard, you go to back up but find your legs already pressed against the dresser. His hungry eyes take in the sight of you fidgeting before him, flustered and in disbelief.
“Oh.” You pause for a moment, wondering where he is going with this.
The smile that breaks out over his face sends a chill down your spine, and he punctuates the predatory look with a lick to his lips. “What’s got you so worked up, pretty girl?”
“I-I,” you stutter, not wanting to confess the truth. But it’s Peter. And a twisted part of you wants to see what your best friend will have to say about your dilemma. “I can’t… you know?” You raise your eyebrows suggestively so he gets the hint. But his brows puzzle instead.
“Why not?” He nibbles on his bottom lip, and you watch all too closely how his tongue pokes out to swipe across the pink flesh.
“I’ve tried to … finish before you came here, but nothing worked. I think I’m too stressed.”
“Stressed?” His eyes seem to darken even more, and he takes a step closer to you, his warm hands falling to the curve of your waist. “What’s got you so stressed you can’t get off properly?”
You sigh, your voice starting to fluctuate as you feel your panties growing more damp by the minute. Your grip on the dresser behind you clamps firmer, fingernails digging into the dark stained wood. “School… life…”
“Mm,” Peter hums understandingly. “Well we can’t let that get in the way.” Reaching up, Peter tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Will you let me have a taste?”
Taken aback by his uncharacteristic forwardness, you stare at him blankly. Peter Parker – your best friend – asking to taste you, asking to go down on you, wanting to eat you out because he can smell your dripping cunt. Maybe it shouldn’t have the effect on you that it does, but a new wave of arousal courses through your veins as you watch his movements closely. The hungry look in his eye glints as he takes a step towards you. It’s slow, calculated. He is the lion, and you are his prey. And god, you aren’t sure if you want it or not, but the way heat rushes to your core makes your head dizzy and your breaths come out labored.
His predatory eyes train on the curve of your mouth. When a small whimper slips past your lips, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Fingertips cinched into your hips, your body almost melts into Peter’s touch, just the simple feeling of someone else touching you sending you dizzy with desire. He rubs his thumbs against your clothed waist, and your lips part as unsteady breaths leave your mouth.
“Peter?”
“You want it, don’t you?”
“Want what?” You swallow hard. The dark glimmer in his once soft brown eyes threaten to cloud your judgement.
Peter draws his hand to your face, sweeping away a stray piece of hair from your sweet face. He wants to see you — all of you. “Don’t act coy, y/n.”
His voice is almost strained, the raspiness in it like stone against stone. It sends a wave of arousal through your body, and your legs start to tremble as he backs you further against the dresser.
“I see the way you look at me,” he continues. “I bet you were even thinking of me before I came over.” His hand brushes down the side of your face, tracing the line of your neck before wrapping gently around your throat.
Maybe the thought had flickered through your mind as you flipped through pages and pages of porn videos, and when your vibrator was pressed against your clit, and when your fingers were buried to the knuckle in your wet center. But he didn’t need to know that. Well, you didn’t want him to know that. Judging by the smug grin on his face, though, he already knew.
“Hmm?” he asks, eyebrows raised. When you don’t answer immediately, he applies a bit of pressure, his fingers pressing into your throat, making your head feel even more dizzy but in a way that has a timid moan leave the tip of your tongue.
“So responsive,” he whispers, leaning in to graze his lips over yours, pulling away before you could consider it a kiss. “So responsive for someone who won’t answer my questions.”
“I-“ you try to form a proper sentence, but with the way he’s looking at you, it leaves your tongue bolted to the roof of your mouth. You’ve never seen sweet Peter like this — ravenous and daring, confident and forward, controlling and hot.
“That’s okay, baby girl.” He punctuates his tender coo with a sweet peck to your lips. Your first kiss. “I can get my responses another way.”
In a second, you’re being lifted off the ground and thrown onto the bed. His super strength catches you off guard — like always — and you squeal as your back hits the mattress with a thud. You crawl backwards until your back hits the headboard with a thud, and your chest heaves as you anticipate what is to come. As much as you want to deny Peter what he wants, you can’t argue with the ache in between your legs and how his unusual behavior has surely left your panties completely ruined. Your only way out of this is to prevent him from seeing the effect he has on you. If he gets a peek at the wet spot staining the fabric, you know in your gut it’s game over — your fate sealed.
Peter crawls onto the bed after you, stalking closer as he positions himself on top of you, strong arms trapping you beneath him. He lowers his hips against yours, and you can feel the bulge in his pants pressing up against your clit, making your back arch off the mattress at the littlest pressure.
“You like that don’t you? You like me touching you.” It is less of a question and more of a statement.
“Pete— Peter,” you pant.
“I’ll have you screaming my name just you wait.”
In on swift movement, your pants are peeled from your legs and thrown across the room. You shriek when Peter grabs hold of the thin fabric of your panties, ripping the garment off your body, leaving it a useless scrap discarded at the foot of the bed.
Sittin up on his heels, Peter yanks on your ankles, pulling you down the bed so you’re lying flat on your back, legs spread wide for him. His eyes don’t even meet your face; they’re locked on their target – your glistening heat.
“So perfect,” he mutters. “So gorgeous.”
Dipping his head, Peter kisses up the inside of your thigh, pausing to leave bruising marks to the sensitive skin. But they aren’t playful and cute like hickeys are supposed to be. Peter bites down hard, sucking the skin into his mouth so firmly you yelp and start to squirm, but it only prompts him to pin your hips down, tutting at you disapprovingly before going back to his ministrations.
“Thought you would be a good girl for me,” he says once he kisses his way up to the apex of your thighs.
You let out a whimper. You love what he’s doing. You love the way he’s manhandling you. You love the way he’s looking at you like you’re his last meal. You love the way he’s having his way with you, but you can’t help but feel the sickening drop in the pit of your stomach each time he touches you without your express permission. Though the more he continues, the less you seem to care.
Peter drops his head to place a kiss to your swollen bud, the mere touch on the sensitive bundle of nerves leaving a strangled moan leaving your lips.
“That’s okay, though,” Peter continues with his husky voice. “I’ll make you my good girl. I’ll treat you so well, eat you so well you won’t even think about another guy ever again.”
You swallow thickly, your throat feeling insanely dry. And before you can even respond, Peter’s tongue darts out of his mouth and licks a trail from hole to bud. He does it again and again before wrapping his firm lips around your clit and sucking so hard you start to see stars.
A trickle of blood seeps into your mouth from biting back moans. He’s good, better than you ever thought considering he’s only ever had one girlfriend before.
He peers up at you through his eyelashes, the sparkle of hungry determination glistening in his eyes. His once soft brown eyes are dark and daring, the innocence in them long gone as he devours you relentlessly. Readjusting his movements, Peter switches from sucking your clit to long, firm licks to your bud. The relief from his unwavering actions prompts an airy sigh which quickly morphs into a deep moan as he returns his lips to wrap around it.
Peter pulls away for just a moment, and you finally get a look at how wrecked you are. Your slick is all over his mouth and chin which seem to shine even in the dim light of the room.
“You taste-“ Peter licks another thick stripe from your hole to your bundle of nerves. “-you taste so sweet.”
You groan when he glides one of his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness. Sticking the digit into his mouth, Peter sucks your arousal off, humming and closing his animated eyes as he savours your sweetness.
“I don’t think I can get enough,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.
“Please, Pete.” Tugging on his curls, you urge him to return to his previous endeavors. As much as you want to bask in the wicked words tumbling from his pretty, pink lips, your desperation for release takes over.
“I know, I know, angel.”
“You’re making me feel too good. Please don’t stop,” you whimper in broken breaths.
Peter’s finger slides over your entrance once more.
You nod your head, not being able to take the teasing as you say, “Want your fingers, Petey. Plea-“
Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slides two of his fingers into your core, your arousal making it so easy for him. His fingers fill you way more than yours, and you can’t hold back the whines slipping past your mouth as the new stretch sets your nerves alight. His lips follow suit, returning to your clit, sucking and lapping as you begin to crumble for him.
You never would have guessed that Peter Parker is an expert pussy eater, but here he is proving that notion so very true. Your fingers grab fistfuls of the delicate strands of his curls, tugging his head impossibly closer to your sex. The growing and tingling ache in your core builds quickly as Peter takes the hint, pumping his fingers expertly and sucking on your bud even harder.
The feeling is a stark contrast to when your feeble attempts failed. The coil in your core only builds, your heart pounding in your chest as you near your release. His hands are gripping your thighs so tightly you’re certain they will leave a lingering bruise alongside the other marks, but it feels too good to care.
As soon as the wave of your high rolls over you, your legs tremble and you cry out Peter’s name so loud you’re glad your roommate is not around.
You can feel him smirk as he continues to suck on your bud, not letting up even after your release rolls over you.
“Pete, please,” you mewl.
The sensation is far too much, your bud is so sensitive and your head is reeling from the events that just unfolded. But Peter doesn’t stop. Instead, he shakes his head from side to side, lips still firmly sucking on your bundle of nerves. The look in his eyes is so intense, you don’t dare ask him to stop. And at this point, you really don’t want him to.
Another orgasm tumbles towards you full force, Peter’s tongue licking up all of your arousal that pools between your legs as one of his hands reaches up and wraps around your neck, squeezing lightly to keep you in place. He hums, closing his eyes as he savours the taste of you. The sight has you about to close your thighs, needing to feel the relief of some friction when Peter’s hands clamp down over the marked skin, keeping your legs wide open for him.
“No, no. I’m not done yet,” he says, lowering his head once more.
He pulls three more orgasms out of you before you practically blackout, your eyelids too heavy to open, your limbs too weak to move. Your chest heaves as you struggle to catch your breath as Peter stares at you in smug satisfaction. His face bent down and cleaning you with a damp rag is the last thing you see before you fall asleep in your best friend’s arms.
You stir awake hours later with the soft morning sun peeking through the curtains of your apartment. There’s a wet sensation between your spread legs, and when you go to close your legs, your thighs bump into something hard that groans and pins yours legs back down against the mattress.
“Pe-” An unexpected high shakes your limbs, Peter’s deft fingers knuckle deep in your center as his deft tongue circles your bud.
Throwing the covers off over him, you peer down at him, gently cleaning you up with light strokes of his wet muscle after ravishing you yet again. To be honest, that is probably the best alarm clock you could have asked for.
When his eyes meet yours, they’re darker than you have ever seen. The brown orbs burn black as he licks up your pussy, making your legs quiver all over again. You go to speak, but one of his hands clamps down over your mouth.
“Hush, little one. You get to talk after I’m done with you,” he states firmly.
You gulp when the weight of his hand lingers over your mouth and you feel the soft wet tongue of your best friend on your most sensitive parts again.
“I’m not done tasting my pussy yet.”