Mary Jane's Tangled Web

Warning: This story is for adults only! The story has strong sexual and violent content. It also contains offensive language. If this is something that you feel uncomfortable with or if you are not old enough according to the law, the author would suggest that you read no further.
Disclaimer: All of the characters in this story are the property of Marvel Comics. The author makes no claim of ownership on these characters. It is a parody. Written for entertainment and not profit. If you wish to make money off of Marvel, buy stock.


Mary Jane’s Tangled Web

Part 2

With child-like glee, Venom danced and twirled about the Parker’s living room. Its grotesque features; the insanely long tongue, white teardrop eyes and fang-rimmed maw, expressed a maniac’s delight at its unexpected good fortune. Simple revenge was its initial motive but now so many more possibilities sprang to mind.

Across the living room Mary Jane Watson-Parker stands with her shirt unbuttoned and hanging around her elbows. The sexual excitement she had felt moments ago was gone. She played a dangerous game with the half-alien monster and lost. Mary Jane was no stranger to stalkers. The most dangerous one she had scared off by making sexual advances to in person, ruining the fixated foe’s good-girl image of her. She had half hoped that would be the case again. Midway through the encounter she switched tactics, trying to stall and wait for her husband, the Amazing Spider-Man to come home. At last she tried to deal for her husband’s life with the only asset she had and ended up in this situation. “Damn it Peter, where are you?” She thought to herself.

“Oh this is too rich Parker,” Venom proclaims to its absent enemy, “Your wife whores herself off for just one more year of your miserable life.”

A sharp chill runs down Mary Jane’s spine when she heard the way the monstrosity pronounced ‘whores’. Self-consciously trying to fight off the shiver MJ pulls the blouse around her shoulders. Again she looks out the windows and towards the skylight, hoping for a Spider to swing by. The city lights pierce the darkness but reveal no arriving hero. “Stall girl, stall…” she thought “I need some way to keep him busy.”

“Would you like a drink before we begin Mr. Brock?” Mary Jane asked, assuming her most business-like tone.

Still celebratory in mood, Venom answered the redhead who was half hiding on the other side of the couch, “Oh Ms. Parker you are such a generous host.” The creature cackled, “A drink would be delightful. And get one for yourself, you’ll be needing it we’re sure.”

Mary Jane rushes into the kitchen and lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m just glad to be out of the room with that monster.” Clutching her head in despair MJ already regrets her decision, “What have I done?” she silently asks, “…and what is he going to make me do?” She fixes her disheveled attire, buttoning the pink silk blouse and zipping her fly. “Did you really think masturbating in front of it was going to make it run away?” She takes steady breaths to stop herself from panicking. “If I run or try to fight, he’ll just web me up and wait for Peter. Face it MJ, your only hope is to keep him distracted, so when Peter gets here at least he’ll have surprise on his side.”

Through the door she hears the oily black beast rummaging around on the far side of the living room. Taking a breath for courage, she peaks through the crack between the door and frame. Mary Jane spies Venom going through boxes from their last move. “What is he doing?”

As if it hearing her thought, Venom stands upright and looks over his shoulder, “Yoo-hoo, Ms. Parker, what’s cooking in the kitchen?”
“Coming Eddie.” Quickly opening the liquor cabinet Mary Jane looks through the assorted bottles, “maybe if I can get him totally ripped then he won’t be capable of doing… anything. This is the bottle that Peter saves for when he gets nicked by stray bullets and knives. Lucky for me superheroes can’t pop off to the emergency room without revealing their identity. 151 proof, and two more bottles where than came from.” She takes two glasses from the dishwasher and moves to the kitchen door. Mary Jane considers bringing one of the kitchen knives “that would be pretty useless MJ. Unless you’re going to use it on yourself.” With two full bottles and glasses in tow, Mary Jane Watson-Parker pushes the swing door all the way open and returns to the living room.

The shadowy giant reclines on the couch with his feet on the coffee table and hands behind his head. “Why Ms. Parker, have we told you how lovely you look tonight?” Mary Jane sets the bottles and glasses on the table and stands in opposition to the hideous thing on her couch. She opens a bottle and fills both glasses, “Let’s reaffirm the terms of our deal Eddie.”

Picking up the glass, Venom professes its terms “We agree not to kill your husband for one year…” Mary Jane picks up her glass and gives her side of the deal “…in return I give myself sexually to you, tonight.” Mary Jane brings the glass to her lips but Venom lifts one finger, “Don’t forget our other condition Ms. Parker.” Mary Jane convalesces, “That I never tell Peter about what you and I do, tonight.”

Venom lifts the glass considering it; “If you tell him I’ll kill you, your Aunt Anna, your sister and her kids, and everyone else with the name ‘Watson’ or ‘Parker’ I find in the phone book.” the dual natured killer giggles to himself, “Do we have an agreement?”

Mary Jane takes another look out the window. There was nothing friendly in the neighborhood. “I’m about out of options.” She thinks to herself.

Venom waits patiently with his glass raised. Mary Jane slowly approaches and taps her glass against his. “You have a deal Venom.”

Both drink. Mary Jan sips slowly, fire burns in her mouth and throat. Venom gulps it down. It laughs and refills its glass. Mary Jane closes her eyes, “I love you Peter,” and swallows the rest. The vodka burns in the pit of her empty stomach. “I’d feel sick if I didn’t already.” She reaches for the bottle from the symbiotic psychopaths clawed hand. As she makes contact, a small tendril of the alien brushes the back of her hand. Mary Jane grabs the bottle and recoils quickly. The bemused monstrosity watches her from the couch, “Shall we begin, Ms. Parker?”

Mary Jane refills her glass and takes another mouthful. Resolved to her fate Mary Jane confronts her future, “alright Venom,” trying to be firm and alluring at the same time, “What do you want me to do?”

The alien’s claws unravel and roll up its forearms, revealing human skin underneath. Venom’s grotesque visage splits, and pulls itself apart. Eddie Brock’s stern face with its stone blue eyes greets Mary Jane with cold indifference. The alien oil-slick shifts and morphs into a white shirt and brown pair of slacks. Brock snatches the stereo remote off the coffee table and turns the power on. The dance music MJ does her morning aerobics to pulses form the speakers. Eddie Brock reaches behind the couch and draws forth one of Peter’s cameras. Now she knows why he was going through those boxes.

“Dance for me.” Brock arrogantly commands. Having no choice in the matter, MJ does as she is told. At first she can’t get into it, she’s honestly trying; the life of her husband depends on it. With the brutal man in the room she can’t find a rhythm. Eddie Brock seems displeased. The bulge she had caused him to sprout earlier was nowhere to be found.

Using her acting training MJ closes her eyes and clears her mind. She tries to put her mind in another place. She remembers when her and Peter would dance, the fun they had at a more innocent age. She is warmed by the memory just as the alcohol hits her system. She begins to feel the beat. Soon her flame red hair is twirling through the air as she dances to please the memory in her head of a summer night like this one a long time ago; that one perfect summer in Forrest Hills, Queens.

Mary Jane is brought back to the here and now by a blue/white flash and telltale click as Brock snaps a picture and advances the film. She gives him the slightest hint of a smile and he quickly snaps another picture. Now she knows why he had the symbiote free his hands and face. “Brock was a photographer for the Bugle,” she reminds herself, “no wonder he likes to watch so much. I’ll give you a show Eddie. What you don’t know is I cardio-dance for 45 minutes everyday. I won’t tire and hopefully Peter will get here before this dance-mix runs out.”
MJ dances for her husband’s ebony clad nemesis. Beads of sweat form on her brow. Her years on the runway have trained her to look like she’s having fun while actually miserable inside, perfect for this purpose. She moves suggestively, and knows when to stroke her thigh or cup a breast by the wax and wane of Eddie’s package. She gives a sly smile and he snaps another picture.

Mary Jane never paid attention to Brock’s face before. His face had all the parts and in the right proportions. He was once a handsome man but a permanent shadow had settled over his features. Shaking her red locks, she brings herself back to the business at hand. She has him enraptured and doesn’t want to break her spell.

Eddie finds her sultry smile is addicting. Brock can’t seem to help himself; he shoots through the rest of the roll. Eddie looks at the frame indicator on the camera. Frowning at what he sees, he glances towards the cardboard boxes across the room. Taking a pull from the half-empty vodka bottle in one hand, the other snaps a webline across the room and snags one of Peter’s cases of film. With a quick flick of his wrist he brings the refill to himself. Stunned by the sudden action, MJ stares at his massive chest as he reloads the camera with expert ease. “I’m sorry Ms. Parker,” his voice was firm, deep and perfectly sane without the creature on his face. “Please continue with the show.”

MJ returns to her dance. The heat form her prolonged activity mixes with the vodka in her blood, the result is making her body temperature rise. She notices her effect on Eddie is beginning to shrink again. “Time to turn up the heat, MJ.” She stops moving side to side and plants her bare feet together. Mary Jane runs her fingers through her hair and fixes her gaze on the camera, ignoring the man behind it. She continues to groove with the music and ever so slowly caresses her fingertips over her shoulders, down the peaks of her breasts, across her the pink silk blouse covering her flat tummy and bringing them to rest on the snap at the top of her jeans. Brock clicks another picture as MJ rips open her the fly on her skintight jeans. Intoxicated with the flash of the camera and bass pumping from the speakers she looses herself in the moment. She’s no longer the mature married woman but the ambitious teenager desperate for attention. She’s the runaway again, dancing for dollars at roadhouses and go-go bars up and down the East Coast. It was not a time she often reminisces for. She detested her clients, but those dollars bought her the ticket to her dreams. She remembers full well the cruel lesson of that time. “A pretty girl’s assets aren’t good looks and charm but the ability to give men exactly what they want without giving too much of yourself away.” Folding at her middle in an agonizingly slow motion she peels her designer jeans down her shapely legs to a ruffled bunch around her ankles. She drops to the floor and a deft sideways roll later the discarded dungarees are kicked out of the way.

Eddie crawls off the coach and across the floor, greedily snapping pictures as a thirsty dog laps water. Mary Jane seductively rises to her feet. With her legs freed she moves with more energy, intensifying her movements. The pink blouse she wears dangles to just below her waist, her intense gyrations keep hinting at the secrets held beneath. She always keeps her eyes on the camera, seducing it by sight. Sweat sticks the silk blouse to her body, forming a second skin much like her silent watchers. MJ gives a sly smile and unfastens the upper most button of her blouse. Turning her back to Eddie she teases another slow reveal. Eddie holds the camera at the ready position as she looks over her pink shoulder. With a playful smile to the fisheye lens, Mary Jane crosses her arms over her head and pulls off the sweat soaked shirt. She tosses it to the floor where it falls with a wet ‘slap’, heavy with perspiration. In her red velvet lingerie Mary Jane Watson moves with the ebb and flow of the music, lost in another time, her deadly audience forgotten.

Eddie Brock appreciates the woman before him. His trained photographer’s eye observes the perfect symmetry of her form; her clothing criminally concealed her slender arms, flat stomach and athletic legs. Her shoulders and hips are in proper proportion to her chest and ass. She looked healthy, not skeletally thin like the majority of fashion models. Her face was beautiful with just a hint of sadness. Her maroon velvet undergarments were a shade darker than her flame red hair and ruby red lips. An intentional calculation for sure, to motivate the hated Parker into making love to her; if he needed that sort of motivation with a woman as magnificent as this, than he did not deserve her. No wonder she would offer herself to his enemy, who can appreciate her exquisite form. He knows full well that she is forcing herself to do this and he can imagine the effort this must take. He almost feels sympathy, but this was after all her idea. Still, she was as physically close to perfection as any woman could ever hope to be. Her willing attitude completed the package.

Mary Jane leapt and spun before her captive of desire. She owned him at that moment but it couldn’t last forever. While her will was strong her legs grew tired. In addition she could only keep him interested by dancing in her underwear for so long. MJ always compares sexual politics to a game of chess. You influence your opponent, force them to make the moves you want them to make. The best strategy is to keep the initiative while making them believe that they’re in charge.
Mary Jane drops her bra straps off her shoulders. The velvet brazier clings to her chest due to the ample size and perky curve of her endowments. Like a million fashion photographers before him, Eddie kneels to the floor and rises to his full height, taking photos at all angles. MJ releases the clasp on the back of her bra. She bumps and grinds while holding the now slacken cloth over her chest. Sultrily she turns her side to the camera, bends over and slowly pulls down her panties. Brock frantically reloads the camera for the nth time.

Mary Jane faces Eddie and continues her burlesque show, hiding her naughty parts behind her improvised velveteen veils. Brock tries to snap quick shots of her nakedness but she playfully twists, denying any access. She does this in time with the rapid pace of the music. A pulse of frustration shoots across Brock’s face. Anger invigorates him to try again and harder. Not wanting to loose control of the situation MJ rewards him with an unobstructed view of her naked backside.
Appreciatively, Eddie snaps a few more pictures.

Mary Jane was an exhibitionist by nature. Someone seeing her naked did not bother her in the slightest. In fact she has always found nudity empowering. MJ had what more than a few models had called, a ‘fabulous ass’. She worked very hard keep it shapely, round and firm. She’d never imagined it would be used to prolong her husband’s life.

The throb of the retro-house dance mix fazes to a low and fast rhythm, all treble but no bass. With her back still turned to Eddie she stretches both of her arms sideways to their fullest length. Each outstretched hand holds one crumpled crimson cloth. After a dramatic pause, she simultaneously drops both to the hardwood floor. Turning her empty palms to the sky she gives a gesture that says, “Won’t need those anymore.” The flickering flash of the camera behind her signals her voyeur’s approval.

Just as the bass of the song kicks in, Mary Jane drops face down to the floor. As the beat intensifies she undulates on the hardwood in time, like a dolphin playing on the waves. Eddie Brock watches every muscle from her neck to her toes pulse with the beat from the speakers. He repositions himself in front of her, kneeling to get a better view. MJ writhes in front of him like a caged animal. She introduces him to a different variation of the game from before, Eddie tries to get frontal pictures of Mary Jane who twists her body keeping the objects of his attention turned away or pressed to the floor. Undaunted he continues to try as she wriggles and slithers to the throbbing beat. The erotic play acting out on the floorboards exemplifies just how supple, agile and flexible her body is. More brazen now she gives him glimpses of his desire and just as Eddie brings the camera to bear, she conceals her femininity with her hands, hair and legs. Both are giving their utmost efforts but Mary Jane continuously proving the victor. Swiping away a sweat soaked lock of hair she gives him a wicked wink.

For a man with the ego of Eddie Brock, this game dances the razor edge between tease and torment. Here she was a bonafide supermodel without so much as a stitch of clothing on her lengthy form. Here he was a photographer with years of experience and he could not get a clear shot. Angered he turns his back to her while reloading again, slipping the spent roll into the pocket provided by his constant companion.

Mary Jane quietly crawls behind him. “I can’t loose control of him now,” she desperately thinks. Acting on impulse, she cups each of her melon heavy breasts.
Then he felt it. Two spots of warm pressure starting at his calves, rubbing up and over his ass to the middle of his back. He could smell her perspiration, taste her in the air and feel her hot panting breath hit the back of his neck. Eddie turned to confront the temptress.

Mary Jane Watson Parker stood before him. She made no attempt to cover herself. Her awesome body sparkled with a fine layer of sweat. She clasps her fingers behind her head, protruding her perfect pair toward him. Her perked pink nipples jut out, hardened by her exertions. Rivers of sweat run down the valley between her bountiful bosom, around the rim of her belly button and to the thin strawberry patch of hair between her legs.

“Take my picture, Eddie.”

Eddie Brock brings the camera to his eye and captures the moment.
Rocking back and forth in time to the music, Mary Jane lets Eddie photograph to his hearts content. The fine sheen of perspiration glistening on her body makes her even more photogenic. She begins to dance again, but this time it is different. Neither peek-a-boo play, nor striptease straining his patience, MJ allows Eddie’s eye all access to her special secrets.

Stepping up onto the wrought iron coffee table she dances with reckless abandon. Eddie takes a low position, reloading yet again. A red waterfall of hair falls in front of her face. MJ’s eyes find the camera through the sweat soaked hair. Licking her lips she luridly leers at the camera while massaging her mounds. Slowly she thrusts her hips forward and head back. Quickening the action to the pace of the music her hair flies in wild whiplashes. She rapidly repeats the motion like she was taking an invisible lover. Eddie frantically snaps more pictures, this was not the same delicate debutante from before. The blue white flash makes Mary Jane’s skin shine luminous.

Mary Jane jumps and spins landing on the top edge of the sofa. Precariously standing on the highest ridge of the couch she continues to bump and grind. From her perch she glances out the big bay widow.

“Where are you Peter?” she prays in her head, “The song is almost over. Its time to come and save me.”

Mary Jane takes a deep breath. Bending her knees and thrusting forward she leaps. Her red tresses flutter behind her, as she sails over the living room.
For one moment she is suspended in time, perfect in form and function, a naked and powerful goddess of the rose-hued dawn flying through the sky.

The electronic beat hits a crescendo.

Her feet with the hardwood floor. With a joyous smile she drops into a perfect split.

After a full hour the CD comes to an end.

The only sound she can here is the rapid pace of her heartbeat. Soon it’s drowned out by the sound of Eddie Brock’s big hands clapping.

“You are Amazing.” He earnestly compliments.

“Thank… you…” she breathlessly pants.

Totally winded, Mary Jane tries to get to her knees and fails. Eddie extends a hand. MJ weakly takes it. With an effortless motion he yanks her to her feet…

…And right to his embrace.

Exhausted from her dance and dizzy from the sudden change in altitude, MJ is unsure exactly what’s happening. She tries to back away but a large hand has a vice-like grip on her naked ass cheek. The other fondles her breast, testing its firmness while playing with the nipple with its thumb. He grinds the hardness in his pants against her tender sex. Worst of all she can feel his clothing crawl, grasping at the pores of her skin. She fells the metamorphic symbiote shudder with anticipation.

In her dance she had forgotten, this was not a man she was entertaining but a monster with alien skin.

“We are gonna have so much fun,” it said with awful intent, “aren’t we?”

Still gasping for air, she can not prevent him from kissing her deeply.

“Where are you Peter?” She begs in her mind.