Peter Parker stood at the entrance to the Hellfire Gala, adjusting the cuffs of his suit with a slow, deliberate motion. The fabric rippled slightly beneath his fingers, a subtle movement that would go unnoticed by most observers. The symbiote had bonded with him completely now, integrating itself not just with his body but with his mind, his inhibitions, his desires. Gone was the awkward, self-effacing photographer who'd stumble over his words and blend into the background. In his place stood something new—something hungry.
The Gala was everything he'd heard about and more. Krakoa's living architecture had been transformed for the occasion, with flowering vines that formed elegant archways and bioluminescent blossoms that pulsed in time with the ambiente music. Floating trays of champagne navigated the crowd autonomously, and the mutant elite mingled with their carefully selected human guests in a dazzling display of power, wealth, and extravagance.
Peter's enhanced senses picked up every detail—the subtle scents of perfume and pheromones, the whispered conversations, the quickened heartbeats of attraction. The symbiote fed on these stimuli, processing them into a cocktail of sensations that fueled his newfound confidence. As he moved through the crowd, he noticed how people stepped aside for him, how their eyes lingered. The symbiote purred its approval in the back of his mind.
Across the grand hall, Emma Frost was holding court. The White Queen stood resplendent in an outfit that seemed to be carved from living crystal, the material clinging to her curves before flaring dramatically at her shoulders and hips. The ensemble caught and refracted the light with every movement, sending prismatic patterns dancing across the walls and ceiling. Her platinum blonde hair was styled in a sleek, sophisticated updo, and her lips were painted an icy blue that matched the accents on her dress.
Emma was mid-conversation with Storm and a small group of admirers when she felt it—a presence that registered differently in her telepathic awareness. Her eyes flicked across the room and locked onto Peter Parker. She'd met the photographer before, of course, both as Spider-Man and in his civilian identity. But something was different now. His mind signature had changed, becoming more complex, layered with something alien and primal. More interesting, she decided, excusing herself from her current conversation with a graceful gesture.
"My, my... someone's undergone quite the transformation," Emma remarked as she approached Peter, champagne flute held delicately between her fingers. Her blue lips curved into a smile that was equal parts amusement and appraisal. "The shy photographer seems to have found his... backbone."
Peter's eyes traveled over her body without pretense or shame, lingering on the places where the crystalline fabric hugged her form most tightly. The symbiote beneath his skin rippled with approval, sending a surge of endorphins through his system. "Maybe I just got tired of pretending to be something I'm not," he replied, his voice carrying a resonant quality it had never possessed before.
Emma raised an eyebrow, her telepathy brushing against the edges of his mind, feeling the alien presence that had taken residence there. "And what are you now, Mr. Parker? Besides incredibly rude with those wandering eyes." Despite her chiding words, there was no real rebuke in her tone—only curiosity and something warmer.
"Someone who takes what he wants," Peter replied, stepping closer until the space between them was charged with tension. The scent of her skin—clean, expensive, with undertones of arousal—filled his nostrils. The symbiote's senses were far more acute than his own, picking up on pheromones and subtle physical changes. "And right now, I'm thinking about taking you."
Emma laughed, the sound genuine and musical. She'd been propositioned countless times by men who thought themselves irresistible, but there was something different about Parker's approach—a raw honesty, a primal certainty that she found unexpectedly compelling. "That's quite presumptuous," she said, tilting her head slightly to study his face. "Though I must admit, your newfound confidence is... intriguing."
"It's not confidence, it's certainty." Peter moved closer still, his voice dropping to a register that seemed designed to bypass her rational mind and speak directly to more primitive instincts. "I can smell how wet you're getting just standing near me." The symbiote's tendrils shifted beneath his suit, responding to his rising desire.
Emma's eyes widened slightly, her telepathy confirming what she already suspected—this was the influence of the symbiote she'd heard about, the alien entity that had bonded with Parker. It was amplifying aspects of his personality that had always been there, buried beneath layers of responsibility and restraint. She should probably alert the other X-Men, perhaps even help extract the creature from him... but where would be the fun in that? Instead, she decided to play with fire.
"My quarters are in the east wing," she said, leaning in close enough that her lips nearly brushed his ear. "Thirty minutes. I'll show you what happens to boys who play at being men." She pulled back, fixing him with a look that was both challenge and promise, before turning and walking away, her crystalline outfit catching the light with each deliberate step.
Peter made his way through the labyrinthine corridors of Krakoa's east wing, the symbiote guiding his steps with unerring precision. He could feel Emma's psychic signature ahead—a brilliant, cold flame in the darkness. The symbiote rippled beneath his skin, eager and hungry, feeding off his anticipation and amplifying it back to him in waves of primal desire. As he approached her quarters, he felt none of the nervousness that would have plagued the old Peter Parker. Only certainty.
Emma's private chambers were exactly what he'd expected—a study in white and crystal, elegant and coldly beautiful like the woman herself. The walls were smooth ivory, inlaid with geometric patterns of reflective crystal that caught and multiplied the soft ambient light. A massive bed dominated the center of the room, draped in pristine white sheets that looked softer than anything Peter had ever touched. Everything about the space screamed luxury, control, and meticulous attention to detail.
Emma opened the door in a sheer white negligee that left little to the imagination, the delicate fabric clinging to her curves like a lover's hands. Her platinum hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her blue lips curved into a smile that was equal parts invitation and challenge. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your—"
Peter pushed forward without hesitation, backing her against the wall with such sudden force that her words died in her throat. His mouth crashed down on hers, demanding and hungry. The kiss was nothing like the hesitant, gentle ones he might have given in the past—this was primal claiming, his tongue invading her mouth as his hands gripped her ass, squeezing the firm flesh and lifting her slightly off the ground. The symbiote thrilled at the contact, sending tendrils of sensation through Peter's nervous system that made every touch electric.
"Mmmphhh!" Emma moaned against his lips, her telepathy instinctively reaching out and encountering the chaotic, hungry presence of the symbiote intertwined with Peter's consciousness. The alienness of it sent a shiver through her—this was no longer just Peter Parker's desire she was feeling, but something older, darker, and infinitely more primal. Breaking the kiss, she gasped for air, her ice-queen composure momentarily shattered. "My, aren't we eager? I usually prefer to set the pace—"
"Not tonight," Peter growled, his voice a dual-toned rumble that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his chest. He spun her around to face the wall, pressing his body against her back so she could feel the hard length of him through his suit. The symbiote rippled beneath the fabric, eager for more contact. "Tonight you're mine to use however I want." His hands slid up her sides, finding her breasts through the thin negligee, squeezing them roughly as he ground his hips against her ass.
Emma felt a thrill of both alarm and arousal shoot through her. This was not how these encounters typically went for her—she was always the one in control, the one setting boundaries and giving permissions. "That's not how this works, Parker," she said, trying to regain some semblance of authority despite the heat building between her legs. "I'm not some floozy you can just—aaahh!" Her protest dissolved into a moan as Peter's hand slid between her thighs, finding the damp silk of her panties and pushing them aside.
"Your body disagrees," Peter murmured against her ear, his fingers exploring her slick folds with confident strokes. "The great White Queen, soaking through her panties for Spider-Man." He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot that made her knees buckle. "What would the other X-Men think if they could see you now? Their ice-cold leader, melting for me?" The symbiote enhanced his senses, letting him feel every flutter of her inner walls, smell the sharp spike in her arousal, hear the quickening of her pulse.
"This is... unexpected," Emma admitted, her breath catching as his fingers worked their magic inside her. One hand braced against the wall for support, the other reaching back to grasp his hair. "The symbiote has certainly changed you." Despite herself, she pushed back against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he was giving her. Her telepathy brushed against his mind again, this time diving deeper, curious about the transformation she was witnessing.
Peter chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling through both their bodies. "It just removed my inhibitions," he said, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his mouth, tasting her essence with a low groan of approval. "Everything I'm doing is what I've always wanted to do to you." He spun her around again, lifting her effortlessly—his spider strength enhanced even further by the symbiote—and carried her toward the massive bed. "You've always looked down on me, Emma. Treated me like I was beneath you." He tossed her onto the mattress, the symbiote rippling across his body, partially revealing the black, alien substance beneath his clothes. "Tonight, you'll find out exactly what it feels like to be beneath me."
Emma landed on the bed with a soft bounce, her negligee riding up to expose her toned thighs and the damp silk between them. Her blue lips parted in a mixture of surprise and anticipation as she watched the symbiote partially reveal itself. "I've never looked down on you, Parker," she said, propping herself up on her elbows. "I simply recognized potential that you were too afraid to embrace." Her eyes traveled over his partially transformed body, noting how the symbiote clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing every muscle. "And I must say, I'm thoroughly enjoying this... evolution." With a deliberate motion, she slipped one strap of her negligee off her shoulder, letting it fall to expose one perfect breast. "The question is, what are you going to do with me now that you have me?"
Peter stalked toward the bed like a predator, each step deliberate and menacing. The symbiote rippled beneath his skin, black tendrils occasionally breaking through the surface in its excitement. His eyes, normally warm brown, had darkened to obsidian pools of hunger.
"You've always been so composed, Emma. So in control," he said, his voice a dual-toned rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "I wonder what it takes to break that perfect facade."
Emma shifted on the bed, her blue lips curving into a defiant smile despite the wetness between her thighs. "Many have tried, Parker. All have failed."
"I'm not like the others," Peter growled. With symbiote-enhanced speed, he lunged forward, gripping the delicate fabric of her negligee. The material tore like tissue paper in his hands, leaving her exposed—all alabaster skin and perfect curves. "And I'm done with foreplay."
Emma gasped at the sudden exposure, her nipples hardening in the cool air. "That was La Perla, you animal—"
"On your knees, Emma," Peter cut her off, his tone brooking no argument. "Show me what that smart mouth can really do."
For a moment, Emma considered resistance—a telepathic push, perhaps, or a transformation to diamond form. But curiosity and her own mounting desire won out. Slowly, deliberately, she slid off the bed and onto her knees before him, her eyes never leaving his.
"This is a rare sight," she purred, maintaining her composure even in this position. "The White Queen on her knees. Savor it, Parker. It won't happen again."
Peter's pants seemed to dissolve, the symbiote receding to reveal his cock—thick, veined, and pulsing with a size that made Emma's eyes widen slightly. The symbiote had enhanced him considerably, both in length and girth.
"My goodness," Emma murmured, genuinely impressed as she wrapped one manicured hand around the base. "The symbiote has been quite... generous."
"Stop talking and start sucking," Peter commanded, tangling his fingers in her platinum hair. The symbiote extended tendrils from his fingertips, wrapping around her silken locks for a firmer grip.
Emma's blue lips parted, engulfing his swollen head with deliberate precision. She started with calculated, teasing flicks of her tongue around his sensitive ridge, determined to maintain some semblance of control through her well-practiced expertise. But Peter wasn't about to surrender the power dynamic she'd already conceded by kneeling.
"Mmmphhh! Nggghh!" Emma's ice-blue eyes flew wide as Peter tightened his grip brutally in her platinum hair and thrust forward without warning, driving himself past her tonsils and into the tight clutch of her throat. The symbiote tendrils wrapped around her head made escape impossible, holding her firmly in place as he invaded her mouth.
"That's it," Peter groaned, his head falling back as the symbiote amplified every exquisite sensation—the velvet heat of her skilled mouth, the spasming resistance of her violated throat, the delicious vibration of her muffled protests against his shaft. "Take it all like the good little cocksucker you are, White Queen."
Tears welled in Emma's eyes, mascara beginning to run as she struggled to accommodate his impossible girth. Her perfectly manicured hands braced against his muscular thighs, nails digging into his flesh. Despite the indignity, she felt her pussy growing embarrassingly wet, cream trickling down her inner thighs. The powerful telepath found herself aroused by his raw dominance and the utter depravity of her position. She—Emma Frost, the White Queen of the Hellfire Club, former headmistress of Xavier's—on her knees, choking and gagging on SpiderMan's symbiote-enhanced cock. It was absurd, degrading, and inexplicably, maddeningly thrilling.
"Suck my balls too," Peter demanded, mercifully pulling back enough to let her gasp for breath, a string of saliva connecting her blue lips to his glistening head. "Show me how thorough the great Emma Frost can really be."
Emma glared up at him, her perfect makeup now slightly smudged, but complied with his crude request. She dragged her tongue in a slow, wet stripe up the pulsing underside of his shaft before taking one heavy testicle into her mouth. She suckled it gently, rolling it on her tongue while her hand continued to stroke his impressive length with practiced precision. The taste of him—raw, musky, undeniably male, with something alien and strangely intoxicating from the symbiote—filled her senses completely, drowning out all thought.
"Fuck, that's good," Peter hissed, his head falling back as pleasure coursed through him. The symbiote rippled across his broad chest in apparent ecstasy, forming hypnotic patterns that shifted and flowed with his mounting arousal.
Emma alternated her attention between his throbbing shaft and heavy balls with skill, her expert technique soon having its inevitable effect. Peter's powerful thighs trembled against her palms, his breathing grew harsh and ragged, and the symbiote's movements became increasingly erratic across his skin. She could taste the precum leaking generously from his tip—slightly sweeter than normal human essence, with an addictive quality that made her tongue swirl hungrily for more. Another symbiote modification, she realized dimly, as her higher cognitive functions surrendered to pure carnal desire.
"I'm going to cum," Peter warned, his voice strained. "And you're going to swallow every fucking drop."
Emma tried to pull back, not used to surrendering this particular control, but Peter's grip tightened painfully in her hair. The symbiote tendrils ensured she couldn't escape as his cock swelled further, pressing against the back of her throat.
With a guttural roar, Peter erupted. Hot, thick streams of cum shot directly down Emma's throat, more than should have been humanly possible. The symbiote had enhanced this too, it seemed. The sheer volume forced her to swallow repeatedly, gulping down his seed as it just kept coming.
When he finally released her hair, Emma fell back, gasping for air. Cum dribbled from the corner of her blue lips, a stark contrast against her pale skin. Her chest heaved as she tried to recover, but Peter wasn't finished. He turned around, presenting his muscular ass to her face.
"We're not done," he said, looking over his shoulder with a dark smile that made Emma's stomach flip. "Put that tongue to work on my ass."
Emma wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, platinum blonde hair falling across her face as her usual icy composure cracked like thin ice beneath a boot. "I don't usually—"
Peter cut her off with a growl that vibrated through the room. "I don't care what you usually do. Do it now." The symbiote responded to his command, forming a sleek black tendril that snaked around her throat—not tight enough to choke but firm enough to remind her exactly who was calling the shots tonight. The cool, alien texture against her pulse point sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
To her own shock and bewilderment, Emma felt an electric thrill race through her core at the command. She'd never been dominated like this—never allowed it—not even with Scott. Yet here she was, moving forward on her knees across the plush carpet to comply like some eager acolyte. Her manicured hands reached up to grasp his firm, muscular buttocks, spreading them to expose his puckered entrance.
"That's it," Peter encouraged, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that dripped with dark honey. "Show me how obedient you can be, Frost."
Emma's pink tongue darted out, circling his entrance—tentatively at first as though testing unfamiliar territory, then with growing boldness as her telepathic senses picked up on his pleasure. The musky, masculine taste was foreign but strangely intoxicating. She found herself getting into it, her tongue becoming more insistent, occasionally pushing past the tight ring of muscle, savoring his sharp intake of breath each time she breached him.
"Fuck, Emma," Peter groaned, reaching down to stroke his impossibly hard cock as she rimmed him. "Who would have thought the White Queen would be such a good little ass-eater? What would your students think now?"
The degradation in his words should have ignited her fury, should have made her freeze his mind on the spot—but instead, it sent another pulse of slick wetness flooding between her trembling thighs. Emma moaned against his ass, the vibrations of her voice making him twitch as her hands gripped his cheeks harder, fingers digging into the firm flesh as her tongue worked more enthusiastically, licking broad stripes around his hole, kissing deeply and shoving her tongue as far inside him as she could reach.
After thoroughly enjoying her ministrations, Peter abruptly pulled away. In one fluid, predatorlike motion, he grabbed Emma by her shoulders and threw her onto the bed with superhuman strength. She bounced once on the mattress, her platinum hair wildly disheveled, her blue lipstick smeared across her chin and cheeks, looking nothing like the composed, untouchable telepath who had greeted him with such arrogance earlier.
"Now," Peter growled, climbing onto the bed, his cock somehow fully erect again despite his recent orgasm, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name."
Emma spread her legs, revealing her glistening pussy. "Big words, Parker. Let's see if you can— AHHH!"
Her challenge was cut short as Peter thrust into her in one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden stretching, the fullness, the slight pain of accommodation—it all combined into a sensation that made Emma's back arch off the bed.
"Oh god!" she cried out, her hands clutching at the sheets. "You're so fucking big!"
Peter established a brutal pace, each thrust driving the breath from her lungs. The symbiote enhanced his every movement, allowing him to hit depths no normal human could reach. Emma's legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back as she tried to anchor herself against the onslaught.
"Like this, Emma?" Peter growled, his face hovering just inches from hers, sweat gleaming on his furrowed brow. "The great Emma Frost, the untouchable White Queen, reduced to a quivering, moaning mess beneath me?"
"Fuck you," Emma gasped between ragged breaths, but there was no venom in her words—only raw, desperate pleasure etched across her flushed face. Her manicured nails raked down his back with enough force to draw blood, carving crimson trails that the symbiote immediately sealed and healed.
Peter laughed, a dark, predatory sound that rumbled through both their bodies like distant thunder. "No, Emma. I'm fucking you."
With effortless strength, he flipped her over without withdrawing, manhandling her slender body into doggy-style as though she weighed nothing. The new angle allowed his massive length to penetrate impossibly deeper, his swollen cock head battering relentlessly against her cervix with each punishing thrust. Emma's trembling arms soon gave out, her face pressing into the silk pillow as her perfect ass remained raised, presented to him like some primal offering.
"Look at you now," Peter taunted, bringing his palm down hard across her ass cheek, leaving a vivid red handprint on her pale flesh. "The White Queen of the Hellfire Club, face down, ass up, taking my cock like a common street whore."
"Shut up and fuck me harder," Emma demanded, her voice muffled by the pillow but somehow
maintaining that imperious tone even in her degradation.
Peter complied with savage enthusiasm, his pace increasing to inhuman speeds that no ordinary man could achieve. The antique bed frame creaked and groaned dangerously beneath them, the ornate headboard slamming rhythmically against the wall with each brutal thrust. The symphony of their rutting filled the room—the obscene wet slap of skin on skin, Emma's muffled, desperate moans, and Peter's primal grunts of exertion.
Emma's first orgasm crashed through her with the force of a tidal wave, her inner walls clamping down on Peter's thick shaft as waves of electric pleasure radiated outward from her core. "Fuck! I'm cumming! I'm CUMMING!" she screamed hoarsely, her entire body convulsing violently beneath him.
Peter didn't slow his relentless pace for even a moment, fucking her mercilessly through her climax and beyond, pushing her oversensitive body toward another peak before the first had even subsided. The symbiote formed writhing black tendrils that snaked around her quivering thighs and narrow waist, holding her firmly in place when her trembling legs threatened to buckle beneath the overwhelming onslaught of sensation.
"That's one," Peter said, his voice strained but triumphant. "Let's see how many more I can wring out of you before I'm done."
What followed was a marathon of primal, merciless fucking that stretched Emma's endurance— and her holes—to their absolute limits. Peter ravaged her with an intensity that transcended human capability, his symbiote-enhanced stamina allowing him to continue pounding her long after any normal man would have collapsed in exhaustion.
In missionary, he captured her slender wrists in one powerful hand, pinning them above her platinum blonde head while his hips pistoned relentlessly. His eyes—dark and predatory— locked onto her ice-blue ones, forcing her to acknowledge exactly who was conquering her body so thoroughly.
"Look at me, Emma," he commanded, his cock stretching her impossibly wide with each brutal thrust. "I want to see your face when you realize you're just a fucktoy for Spider-Man."
That penetrating gaze dismantled her carefully constructed walls more effectively than his cock, breaking down psychological barriers the White Queen had maintained for decades. Her whimpers grew more desperate, more authentic, as her customary icy reserve melted under his dominance.
When he flipped her into cowgirl, he briefly allowed her the charade of control. Emma rode him frantically, her voluptuous ass slapping obscenely against his thighs as she ground her clit against his base.
"That's it," Peter groaned, watching her tits bounce hypnotically. "Work for that cum like the high-class whore you are."
His patience quickly evaporated. Peter seized her hips in a bruising grip, his fingers digging into her pale flesh as he jackhammered upward with superhuman force. Emma's back arched dramatically, a guttural scream tearing from her throat as another violent orgasm ripped through her sweat-slicked body.
"FUUUUUCK! I CAN'T—HNNNGGGHHH!" she wailed, her pussy squirting uncontrollably around his shaft.
Without warning, he manipulated her limbs into a full nelson, her trembling legs spread so wide her hip joints ached. He bounced her up and down his throbbing length like she weighed nothing, her holes completely at his mercy. Each downward slam forced his cockhead against her cervix, sending electric shocks of pleasure-pain radiating through her overstimulated nervous system.
"Please," Emma gasped after her fourth earth-shattering climax, her entire body quivering like a leaf. Sweat had plastered her platinum hair to her flushed face, her once-immaculate make-up now completely destroyed. Blue lipstick smeared across her chin and tits, mascara running down her cheeks in black rivulets. "I need—nngh—just a moment to breathe... please..."
"No breaks," Peter snarled, flipping her over with brutal efficiency. He arranged her in a mating press, shoving her knees back toward her shoulders until her spine curved painfully. Her puffy, abused pussy gaped open—red, swollen, and dripping—completely defenseless against his next assault. "Not until I decide we're done. And I'm nowhere near done with you yet."
He reentered her with a single powerful thrust, driving so deep that Emma swore she could feel him in her throat. The mating press position allowed for maximum penetration, his thick cock stretching her to her absolute limit as his pubic bone ground mercilessly against her swollen clit with each devastating movement.
"Oh FUCK! Too deep! It's too fucking deep!" Emma shrieked, her perfectly manicured nails clawing desperately at his chest, leaving angry red welts across his skin. But her body betrayed her words as her pussy clenched violently around his shaft, her arousal gushing out to soak the already drenched sheets beneath them.
Peter loomed over her, his face just inches from hers, his eyes burning with a dark, predatory hunger that made her pussy throb. "Nothing's too deep for a cockslut like you," he whispered against her ear, punctuating his words with a thrust so brutal it knocked the breath from her lungs. "Say it. Say you're my slut."
Emma's legendary pride battled against the tsunami of pleasure threatening to drown her, but another perfectly aimed thrust against her g-spot obliterated her resistance. "I'm your slut!" she gasped, her eyes rolling back as her eyelids fluttered. "Oh god, I'm your fucking slut! I've Always been your fucking slut!"
"That's right," Peter growled, his hips becoming a piston as he jackhammered into her defenseless pussy. The expensive bed frame screamed in protest with each savage thrust, the headboard slamming rhythmically against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. "My slut. My personal cockwhore. Mine to use however I fucking want."
Emma's aristocratic voice—normally so controlled and cutting—now reduced to animal wails and desperate pleas as Peter relentlessly ravaged her holes. Her carefully cultivated Ice Queen persona had completely shattered, leaving only a drooling, cock-drunk mess in its place. Her telepathy, typically maintained with iron discipline, now broadcast her ecstasy like a psychic loudspeaker to anyone within mental range—a humiliating fact she was too far gone to even register.
"OH FUCK! FUCK! I'M COMING AGAIN! HNNNGAAAAHHH!" she screamed, her entire body convulsing beneath his weight. This orgasm transcended all others—more violent, more consuming, more devastating. Her vision dissolved into blinding White light, her spine arching so dramatically that only her sweat-soaked head and trembling heels remained in contact with the utterly ruined mattress.
Peter felt his own climax building like a gathering storm, the symbiote tightening around his heavy balls as if to milk out every last precious drop. His thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming wild, animalistic stabs driven by nothing but primal need to breed.
"Where do you want it?" he snarled, his voice barely recognizable as human. "Tell me where you want my fucking cum."
Emma's ice-blue eyes, completely glazed with mindless pleasure, struggled to focus on his face. Her smeared blue lips parted, her once-refined voice now a hoarse, desperate rasp from hours of screaming. "Inside me," she begged shamelessly. "Cum inside me! Fill my fucking womb, Parker! Breed me like the slut I am!"
With a primal roar that shook the walls, Peter drove deep into her and released. The symbiote enhanced his orgasm just as it had enhanced everything else, turning what would have been a few spurts into a seemingly endless flood. Hot cum filled Emma's womb to overflowing, seeping out around his still-pumping cock and soaking the sheets beneath them.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Emma chanted, her body milking him for every drop, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his pulsing shaft. The sensation of being so thoroughly filled triggered yet another small orgasm, leaving her trembling and gasping.
Peter collapsed on top of Emma, his weight pinning her to the mattress. The symbiote, seemingly satisfied, receded slightly, covering less of his body. They lay there for several minutes, both panting, sweat-slicked bodies cooling in the aftermath of their exertion.
Eventually, Peter rolled off her, but instead of separating completely, he pulled her back against him with possessive strength. Emma's body, normally so controlled and poised, moved like liquid in his hands, too exhausted to resist—not that she wanted to. He nestled his nose in her platinum blonde hair, inhaling deeply. Despite hours of sweaty, primal fucking, she somehow still carried that expensive scent—something cool and floral with undertones of vanilla that probably cost more per ounce than most people's monthly rent.
"Mmm," he hummed against her scalp, his cock—impossibly still semi-hard—settling naturally between her plump ass cheeks. His hand moved to cup her breast, fingers splaying possessively over the soft, full flesh. "You smell fucking incredible."
Emma whimpered softly—a sound so vulnerable and un-Emma-like that it made his cock twitch against her ass. She pushed back against him, seeking more contact, more warmth, more of whatever this was. The White Queen, reduced to wordless sounds of satisfaction, pressing herself against him like a cat seeking affection.
"Who would have thought," Peter murmured, his thumb lazily circling her nipple, "that the great Emma Frost would be such a needy little thing after getting properly fucked?"
"Shut up," she mumbled, but there was no bite to her words. Her hand came up to cover his, not to remove it but to press it more firmly against her breast. "Just... don't talk and ruin it."
Peter chuckled, the sound rumbling through both their bodies. "As you wish, Your Majesty." He placed a surprisingly tender kiss on her shoulder, and they settled into a comfortable silence.
The symbiote purred contentedly in the back of Peter's mind, satiated in a way it hadn't been in a long time. It had fed well tonight—on Emma's pleasure, on Peter's dominance, on the raw emotions that had flowed between them. The alien creature stretched tendrils through Peter's nervous system, keeping him aware of every minute change in Emma's body—the gradual slowing of her heartbeat, the deepening of her breath, the slight twitches as her overtaxed muscles began to relax.
They fell asleep like that, tangled together in the ruins of Emma's once-pristine bed, the sheets soaked with sweat and cum, the room reeking of sex and pheromones. For those few hours, there was no Krakoa, no X-Men, no Spider-Man—just two bodies sharing heat in the aftermath of something primal and transformative.
....................
Three hours later, Peter woke with a familiar hunger gnawing at him. The symbiote stirred beneath his skin, eager for more of the pleasure it had feasted on earlier. His cock hardened instantly, thickening and lengthening between Emma's ass cheeks where it had remained nestled throughout their brief sleep.
He ground against her deliberately, sliding his shaft along the crevice of her ass, coating himself in the mixture of their dried fluids still smeared across her skin. Emma stirred in her sleep, a small moan escaping her blue lips as she unconsciously pushed back against him.
Peter leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe as he whispered, "Wake up, Emma. I'm not done with you yet."
Emma's eyes fluttered open, bleary with exhaustion. When she felt his hardness pressing insistently against her, she groaned. "No... I can't... not again," she mumbled, though her body betrayed her words as she arched her back, pushing her ass more firmly against his cock.
"You know you can," Peter whispered, biting down on her earlobe hard enough to make her gasp. His hand slid from her breast down her stomach, fingers dipping between her legs to find her already wet. "Your body doesn't lie, Emma. You're soaked for me already."
"Parker, I'm serious," she protested weakly, even as she spread her legs slightly to give his probing fingers better access. "I have meetings in the morning... the Cuckoos will be looking for me... I can barely walk as it is..."
Peter chuckled darkly, his fingers circling her clit with maddening lightness. "The great White Queen, worried about walking funny in front of her students? What happened to that legendar ice-cold composure?"
"You fucking happened," Emma hissed, gasping as his fingers increased their pressure. "God, what are you doing to me?"
"Exactly what you need," Peter replied, positioning his cock at her entrance. With one smooth thrust, he entered her from behind, her slick heat welcoming him despite her protests. "Exactly what you've always needed."
"Fuuuuck," Emma moaned, her face burying into the pillow as he filled her completely. Her inner walls, swollen and sensitive from their earlier activities, clenched around him painfully, deliciously. "God, you're so fucking big..."
Peter established a slow, deep rhythm, different from the frantic pace of earlier. Each thrust was deliberate, measured, designed to hit every sensitive spot inside her. His hand slid up to wrap gently around her throat—not squeezing, just resting there as a reminder of his control.
"You feel that, Emma?" he growled against her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. "Feel how perfectly you take me? Like your pussy was made for my cock."
Emma whimpered, beyond words now. Her telepathy, normally so tightly controlled, leaked out in waves of raw sensation. Peter felt her presence in his mind, not trying to control him but simply sharing her pleasure, amplifying the connection between them. The symbiote responded eagerly, reaching out tendrils to wrap around her limbs, binding them together more completely.
"That's it," Peter encouraged, feeling her thoughts mingling with his own. "Let me feel everything. Let me know exactly what I'm doing to you."
Through their mental connection, he felt her mounting pleasure, the exquisite pain of oversensitivity, the way each thrust sent sparks shooting up her spine. He adjusted his angle slightly, targeting the spot that made her mental voice scream with ecstasy.
The symbiote, feeding on their combined arousal, extended a slender tendril that slipped between Emma's ass cheeks, probing gently at her tight rear entrance. Emma's mental presence flared with surprise and hesitation.
"Trust me," Peter whispered, slowing his thrusts to let her adjust to the new sensation. "I'll make it good for you."
The tendril secreted a slick lubricant as it pressed more insistently against her puckered hole. Slowly, carefully, it breached her, sliding into her ass as Peter continued to fuck her pussy. The dual penetration sent Emma's mind into overdrive, her telepathy broadcasting waves of shocked pleasure.
"Oh my god," she gasped, her body trembling as the symbiote tendril pushed deeper, moving in counterpoint to Peter's thrusts. "That's—that's—"
"Too much?" Peter asked, genuinely concerned despite his dominance. "Should I stop?"
"Don't you fucking dare," Emma snarled, pushing back against both intrusions with desperate need. "Don't stop, don't ever stop!"
Peter grinned against her neck, increasing his pace as the symbiote tendril thickened inside her ass, stretching her further. "That's my girl," he praised, his hand moving from her throat to her clit, rubbing firm circles around the swollen bud. "Take it all like the perfect little fucktoy you are."
The combined stimulation was overwhelming. Emma felt herself approaching orgasm with frightening speed, her entire body tensing as the pleasure built to unbearable levels. Through their mental connection, Peter felt it too, his own release building in response.
"I'm going to cum," she warned, her voice breaking as the first tremors began. "Peter, I'm going to—FUCK!"
Her orgasm hit like a psychic explosion, her telepathy amplifying it and bouncing it back between them in an endless feedback loop. Peter felt her pleasure as if it were his own, the tight clench of her inner walls, the electric jolts shooting through her nervous system, the momentary whiteout of her consciousness as ecstasy overwhelmed her.
The intensity triggered his own release. With a guttural roar, he drove deep inside her and came, pumping load after load of hot cum into her already flooded pussy. The symbiote pulsed around them both, absorbing the overflow of sensation and feeding it back to them, prolonging their shared climax until they were both gasping, shaking, and utterly spent.
When the last aftershocks subsided, Peter carefully withdrew, the symbiote tendril slipping out of her ass with gentle care. Emma collapsed fully onto the mattress, her body limp and quivering. Peter followed her down, wrapping his arms around her protectively as she struggled to regulate her breathing.
"I think," Emma said finally, her voice barely a whisper, "that you may have ruined me for anyone else, Parker."
Peter smiled against her shoulder, placing a soft kiss on the pale skin. "That was the plan all along."
They dozed again, drifting in and out of consciousness as dawn approached. Each time Emma stirred, Peter was there, hands roaming over her body, cock hardening against her, the symbiote rippling with renewed hunger. By the time the first rays of sunlight filtered through the windows, they had fucked twice more—once with Emma riding him, her head thrown back in silent ecstasy as he gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, and once bent over the edge of the bed, her face pressed into the mattress as he took her from behind with brutal efficiency.
As sunrise painted the room in golden light, Emma lay sprawled across the utterly destroyed bed, her body a map of their night together. Red marks from his hands decorated her hips and thighs, love bites bloomed across her neck and breasts, and her once-perfect makeup was completely gone, leaving her looking younger, more vulnerable. Between her legs, a steady trickle of their combined fluids seeped out, staining the already ruined sheets.
Peter stood, stretching his muscles as the symbiote reformed into casual clothes around him—a simple black t-shirt and jeans that somehow looked runway-ready on his enhanced physique. Emma watched him through half-lidded eyes, her body too exhausted to move but her gaze following his every movement with newfound hunger.
"Stay," she pleaded, surprising herself with the naked need in her voice. The great Emma Frost, begging a man to remain in her bed—it was unthinkable, yet here she was. "Come back to bed. We have all day..."
Peter turned to her, a predatory smile spreading across his handsome face. He approached the bed, his movement fluid and menacing. With no warning, he delivered a sharp smack to her ass that made her yelp and moan simultaneously, her oversensitive body responding despite her exhaustion.
He leaned down, capturing her lips in one final kiss—rough, possessive, and deep. His tongue invaded her mouth, claiming her completely as the symbiote rippled with satisfaction beneath his skin. When he pulled back, Emma followed his mouth instinctively, chasing the contact.
"Maybe next time you'll remember who's really in charge," he said against her lips before straightening up. "And there will be a next time, Emma. Count on it."
As he walked toward the door, Emma felt an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her chest. It wasn't just the physical satisfaction—though god knew she'd never been fucked so thoroughly in her life—but something else, something that made her both uneasy and excited.
"Parker," she called out, her voice still hoarse from screaming. He paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. For a moment, Emma considered saying something witty or dismissive, reclaiming some of her usual icy control. Instead, she simply said, "Thank you."
Peter's smile softened slightly, becoming something almost tender. "You're welcome, Your Majesty." With a mock bow, he slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him.
Emma Frost—the White Queen, one of the most powerful telepaths and formidable women on the planet—lay back against the pillows, shivering through aftershocks of pleasure. She watched the closed door with a mixture of exhaustion, satisfaction, and an unfamiliar feeling of submission. For once in her life, she had completely surrendered control, and the experience had been... transformative.
As she finally drifted toward sleep, Emma realized with a mixture of alarm and anticipation that she was already looking forward to next time. The symbiote had changed Peter Parker, unleashed something primal and dominant that had always lurked beneath his responsible exterior. And that something had awakened a corresponding hunger in her—a desire to be dominated, claimed, and thoroughly fucked by the man who now knew exactly how to break through her icy facade.
The White Queen had met her match, and she couldn't wait for their next encounter.