Spinnerette's Spectacular Spider-Shi- er, Ass (Spider-Man)

Spinnerette’s Spider-Ass (Or, if you fuck a Spider-Woman in her webhole, does that count as Anal?)

Synopsis: The happily married wife of Peter Parker has a few problems, but hardly few worth complaining about. A superpowered child, a superpowered husband, and the fate of satisfying her husband’s ridiculous sexual appetite… Who said that being married left you vanilla? MJ would say being married to Peter Parker would left you full.

P.Parker/M.J.W.Parker (ALL THE LOVE NIGGA) (ALL THE LOVE)
(Nah for real, this is what happens when you mix a love of anal with a love of heartwarming soul-satisfying sex. And Spider-Man fucking his wife like he doesn't want to break her, but doesn't care if she ends up never sitting, shitting, or walking straight in her life a-fucking-gain, God bless America, you anal afficinado loving fucks.) (God bless Vanilla, and SPider-Man motherfucking the fucking mother of his little redheaded spider-child. I'm fucking done.)

Tags: Vanilla, catharsis, anal, lots of anal, assfucking, and LOVE
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Mary Jane Watson-Parker loved her husband and her daughter more than anything in the world. Unfortunately, Peter’s determination was a dominant trait.

His daughter refused to go to school without giving him a hug.

Her father refused to leave MJ behind without blowing a fat wad of his goo in one of her holes. And, unfortunately,, his latest favorite place ended up being MJ’s nadir.

MJ ducked into the bathroom silently and pulled down her pants. Her face was a mask of effort as she visibly struggled to hold it in, her stomach churning and her knees nocked, her movements trembling. It was far easier having Spider-powers, she had thought. They brought her and Peter closer than ever before, and she was now, without a doubt, his other half. His only other half, and that brought an instinctual, feminine pride and honor to her, which made her smile rictus, even as her colon protested.

Spider-powers didn’t help having enough semen to repopulate the world up her ass. Or maybe they did, but MJ had reached past the point of saturation.

The day had started like any other in this golden point in her life. Her daughter had woken up, and then MJ had woken up, and then Peter was still asleep. Only he wasn’t, and the thick slab of meat between his legs was sliding between MJ’s asscheeks in his sleep, causing her to wake up with wide open eyes.

MJ was still in her prime, much like her husband. She had to be if she wanted to keep up with him and his body, and sharing his abilities only helped that. With the birth of their child her breasts had gotten much larger and heavier, and it was a bemusing thing to see Peter so preoccupied with suffocating himself between her perky titflesh as she bounced in his lap, even as she cooed and said it was all for him. Not as bemusing as having him tuck in between her asscheeks and drive her crazy until he finally decided to stick it to her like a stuck pig, and she’d squeal.

Her hips had gotten wider and MJ had lost her ideal supermodel curves. But Peter was hardly complaining. While before she had a lithe hourglass figure, the only thing that could accurately describe MJ’s body was the acronym MILF. Because that’s what she was, and MJ annoyedly, gratefully, wistfully and ruefully considered herself lucky that her husband thought she was a mother he’d like to fuck.

Fuck wasn’t a very accurate term. With great powers came great durability, and Peter took advantage. No longer did he have to hold back to prevent destroying her with his strength, and no longer did MJ have the ignorant bliss of not knowing what it was like, having her husband’s fat dick somewhere behind her ovaries, asking permission to inseminate her large intestine. But she did now, and she did that morning, and it was more of the same.
Peter wasn’t asleep for long, not with the way she had been moaning and whimpering into her pillow. Annie couldn’t see this, she just couldn’t. The thought of being seen by anyone mortified MJ, despite the fact that she ran around in a skin tight suit that did nothing to hide just how soft and marshmallowy her assflesh and tits were. It wasn’t as if she could wear a bra – they chafed. It mortified her so much she speared herself onto Peter’s cock, not because she liked having his big dick in her ass and the thought of his ballslime drooling out of her all day made her fingers frig herself in a frenzy, but simply because she needed to get him off. It was her duty as his wife, his other half, to bend over when he asked, stick her ass in the air, and get taken to pound-town with the hole she shat from just so her husband, her wonderful, heroic husband, wouldn’t suffer from overly full balls.

There was a chance that if he got her pregnant, her body would only get more fertile, more motherly. Peter worshipped her before, dreamt of her, cooed to her, but what she had now was an avid fan, worshipper, and lieutenant for her body. Barely a day went by that he wasn’t against her, pinning her against the wall with a ludicrous amount of webbing, and fucking her so hard – in the bathroom, in the tub, in the kitchen, on a wall, on the ceiling, on a low rooftop where people could see – that whatever poor brace beneath or behind her simply broke. It was a good thing they were both pulling in far more money than they had in their younger days, because a good portion of it went to repairing their home.

Broken walls, broken sinks, cracked bath, shattered bedpost…

And now it was another morning, and the covers had been tossed aside in favor of MJ bending over, nearly falling off the bed while Peter, with a body that she worshipped just as avidly, plowed into her. MJ bit her lip and chewed on the pillow, but she was intent on taking it like a good wife should. After all, she was his wife, his love, and he was hers. Not Felicia’s, not Gwen’s, not any other fucking slut that thought they could come around and take HER Peter away from her just so they could limp in the morning. Hers.

He was fucking her so hard, spearing past her beleaguered, thoroughly confused and bullied sphincter that she just had to pull her fat cheeks apart to give him easier access. Maybe he’d slow down, but she doubted that. Maybe he’d cum sooner, but MJ considered that an impossibility. This was an hour long affair at least, which is why she was so used to waking up so early. Best to get it out of the way so he didn’t end up fucking her brains out by her shitter in midday, and she didn’t end up creaming her panties with Spider-Man’s fat cock shoved up the hole the sun never saw.
He stuck her deep and MJ, groaned throatily and ground herself back against him, his balls smacking wetly against her dripping but ignored pussy. She didn’t think she could handle having another child, not if it meant having Peter on her even more.

Spider-Man wouldn’t have time to save people and Peter wouldn’t have time to work, though he’d always find time for his child. It was a sacrifice Mary Jane, as the loving wife, had to make. She’d sacrifice not being able to say her husband lived to have his cock inside any of her willingly and lovingly offered holes for the sake of the city. Yes, she was a hero now, because of her husband, and with that came a responsibility. A responsibility to say no to never shitting straight again, saying no to never sitting down without wincing, and and a succinct desire to never give into the urge to have her husband’s dick p her ass whenever she wished, just because her balloonknot would twitch when she looked at his crotch now. Heavy is the head that wears the crown and all that, and if one thing was for sure, MJ was the Queen. The Queen to Peter’s King, and the Queen with a fat fucking, huge cock blowing a spermbank’s worth of a load right up into her stomach from the other end. Whether it was wrong or not was purely due to perspective, and MJ’s perspective was clouded by her eyes rolling into the back of her head as the thick ropes of wasted baby batter tried to inseminate her anal walls.

Peter pressed flush against her, every thing, long, throbbing and pulsating inch intent on giving his wonderful wife yet another child, but the smart man was doing it the wrong way. Spider-Man, genius as he was, was failing at basic biology in a most spectacular way. You can’t make a baby by basting your wife’s shitter with your jizz! Some might say. Some, and many, don’t know Peter Parker and just how determined he could be when it came to his family, and his wife in particular.

The morning gave way to the afternoon with MJ insensate and left, ass up and drooling, on her bed, just as Peter left her. Peter took Annie to school and MJ caught up on sleep, only to wake up and find the buttplug, her favorite one, between her legs. Unfortunately the copious load had spilled out, leaving MJ uncomfortably empty. And as much as it got Peter going that MJ was carrying his wasted sperm up in her shitter all day long, it was for MJ’s benefit too. You didn’t just get an assblasting like that and go cold turkey, it was impossibly. Her rectum had to readjust.
But now, in the present, the time for readjusting was over. The buttplug, thick and wide so as to stop her full thanks to her husband’s anatomy, was becoming to much. Fuck that, it was failing. They had tried smaller plugs in the past but that just left MJ with a slimy mess of mislead balllljuice sluicing out from her half-dollar sized shithole, right in her costume as they swung to the next crime. No, they needed a bigger plug so MJ could keep her husband’s cum inside her, lovingly, and this one was starting to become obsolete.

She wrenched open the bathroom stall with enough force tear it off its hinges and cursed. She’d settle for webbing it back up, but only after she sat down. MJ pulled down her pants, her creamy thighs coming out into the open, still covered with hickeys and bitemarks from Peter, and groaned, going crosseyed, as she yanked out the fat plug from her protesting asshole with a loud, audible pop that was not unlike a champagne cork. The result was immediate, and the very same fluid that had put a bun in her oven was now leaking out of her repurposed shitpit, and onto the floor, just making her day worse.

MJ sat down and groaned quietly to herself as it drooled out of her. She was stretched so completely she couldn’t even push and was a reluctant victim of gravity, and having her husband’s sperm up her ass, and at the mercy of a poor, unsuspecting toilet that didn’t know any better. She was also at a crossroads, forced to choose between webbing that damn stall door shut or fingering herself stupid, or holding the buttplug in her hand. But the threat of being seen while she shit her husband’s cum out was too much, so she made a sacrifice, as Peter had done for her sake countless times before.

She looked at the plug and the thick, gooey load stuck to it, and then the message at the bottom which read, “F.Y.F.N.S-M,” and popped it into her mouth, both to retrieve the would be wasted load, and to silence herself as she stuffed her hand between her legs and used her other to expertly bind the broken door to the stall. Her stomach still felt full and her ass broken, but she wasn’t in a mood to complain.

And it was with that thought, and the thought that the day would likely end with her bouncing like Little Miss Big Butt Tuffet in her husband’s lap while he shot another inhumanly sized load of spunk up into her intestines, that made her realize she was still going to go to sleep with his dick in her mouth, his balls on her chin, just so she could get some rest that wouldn’t cum the next morning, all the while her husband would.

Mary Jane Watson Parker was a good wife.