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Swimming back to consciousness was like crawling through dark, sticky molasses. Your mouth tasted of cotton and copper, like you’d bitten your tongue days ago and never rinsed out the blood. Your body felt heavy, and even your breath felt labored, an uncomfortable, invisible weight resting on your chest.
Bleary eyed, you stared around the stark, empty room. It was reminiscent of a hotel; plain wooden furniture of little note, and nothing but plain, white walls. There was a large bay window overlooking the city on the other side of the room, lights twinkling far below you in the dark.
Where am I?
You couldn’t remember anything. Well, that wasn’t strictly true—you could remember bits and pieces of the night before, but not many. Clubbing with Tara and Amy—not really your scene, but you still enjoyed getting dressed up, being out. Neon lights flashed in your memory, and underneath the stale taste of old blood like pennies, you could still detect a hint of vodka on your breath, hear raised voices...
So what had happened after that?
Had you gone home with someone after having what had clearly amounted to too much to drink? Had you and the girls somehow booked yourselves into a hotel, drunk as skunks? You’d never really been one for alcohol fueled shenanigans, but… it was Tara’s going away party, perhaps she’d been able to convince you.
Either way, there wasn’t much of use in the pitch darkness of your mind’s eye, nothing useful to dredge up. You lifted a hand to your head, intending to brush the curls from your forehead as you sat up, but pressure at your wrists wouldn’t allow you to complete the movement. You looked down, your eyes widening as you took in the rope looped tightly around your wrist, anchoring it to the bedframe. It was white, sticky—like it was made of something other than cloth. A frantic tug at your other arm revealed the same restraints, and with a panicked breath, you began to scream.
“Help! Help, please, someone!” You pulled and pulled until your skin began to turn red. “I—I’m trapped, please!” Your voice cracked as you kicked at the sheets covering your legs, exposing your ripped stockings and bruised calves. The blue, babydoll dress you’d worn was dirty, like you’d fallen in it.
“Please!”
There was no answer. Only silence met your increasingly hoarse and panicked calls for help, the skin on your wrists turning raw and swollen as you pulled hard on your restraints. You weren’t sure how long it had been when the wall seemed to slide open like a door, hydraulic hinges hissing as it did so. It had to have been hours, evidenced by the puffy, burning marks on your arms and the sore ache in your throat.
“Help me,” you croaked. “Please.” The low, yellow lighting didn’t fully pierce the dim in the hall beyond the room you were in, but if you squinted, you could barely make out three figures, standing side by side in the doorway.
“Aww, Pete, look at her. She’s cute.” Something cold pricks at your spine at his words.
“He’s got good taste,” said another one, off to the left. “A little young for me, but I’m older than you guys, I think.” There was a clapping sound, like someone being patted on the back, accompanied by the soft exhale of breath.
“Thanks guys.”
One of the men stepped forward into the light, and rubbed the back of his neck before glancing back at the other two. “Hi. I’m Peter.” You recognized him instantly—this was the same handsome, smiling face that had been plastered all over the news for the past six months. Peter Parker.
He carded a hand through his curly, chestnut hair, before flashing a smile at you. It didn’t do anything other than fill you with cold dread—these three men had brought you here.
“I’m sorry you got so banged up, you fell, and—” He shook his head, cutting himself off. “Anyway, you’re here. That’s what’s important.”
“W-where is here?” You asked in a small voice. “Please, I—I just want to go home, Peter—”
“We all want to go home,” someone snapped at you from the doorway, the scowl evident in their voice. “That’s why you’re here.”
“Pete, come on,” Peter replies, and your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “I’m just explaining things.” He turned back to you with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him. Peter two’s a little… impatient.” He stepped closer to the bed, and your chest tightened with panic. You couldn’t run, couldn’t defend yourself—all you could do was lay there, your chest constricting as the realization dawned—
Trapped. Trapped like a rat.
A man stalked into the room, his arms crossed as he looked at you stoically. He was followed by another, who fixed you with a winning smile.
“What’d I say, Pete? Cute.”
They’re all Peter?
The newest addition smiled and winked at you, not breaking eye contact as he settled himself against the wall opposite you. He seemed more charismatic, more friendly than the other two, but there was still an icy sort of detachment behind his eyes that terrified you. You were a means to an end for all of them—but what end?
Peter one crouched in front of the bed, clasping his hands together. “Listen. I know waking up like this wasn’t fun. We hate seeing you so worked up, but, um, we need you.”
“Yeah,” Peter two added sarcastically. “You’re real important.”
You swallowed thickly. “Why?”
“It’s, well, it’s hard being a super hero,” Peter says quietly. “We have to stay focused, you understand that, don’t you? Can’t be distracted, I can’t have…” He trailed off for a moment, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I can’t be good if I’m distracted.”
The other Peters echoed him in a chorus of murmured agreement.
“No one understands,” Peter three added. “What it’s like, how heavy it all is… No ordinary relationship can withstand all that. We’ve all seen proof of that.” You didn’t know what he meant, but you didn’t ask—Peter two scared you most of all, the way his eyes raked hungrily down your prone form over and over again as soon as he’d entered the room.
Peter one pulled at the sheet you’d tangled your legs in, and you kicked at him. He dodged it easily, clucking his tongue at you. You whimpered as he caught your ankle in an iron grip, his fingers finding the runs in your stockings and tearing at them.
“Hey, hey. None of that. When this is over, you won’t even remember,” he chastised you. “Now just be relax. Maybe you’ll even like it.” You didn’t have full use of your arms, but you tried anyway, pulling at the thick, sticky webbing around your wrists until you smelled the copper of your own blood.
“Stop—Stop, no—” Through the alarm bells ringing in your mind, you could hear at least one other Peter laughing.
“She has fight,” he said. “I like that, but we don’t have time for it.” You felt another set of hands on you, turning your head. “Open up, sweetheart,” Peter two loomed over you, a slim, clear vial in his hand. You pressed your lips together tightly, and he smirked. “Fine by me.” He dug his fingers into your jaw, squeezing until the bones creaked and you gasped with pain. He held your mouth open, pouring the vial down your throat while you sputtered and coughed.
It tasted bitter and oily, but as you heaved, Peter three clapped his hand over your mouth, forcing you to swallow down the bitter concoction.
“What the fuck was that?” You spat, still trying ineffectually to kick at Peter one as he rolled your stockings down your legs, his hands warm on your thighs.
“Muscle relaxant. And a few other things,” Peter three answers for him. “I like a girl with a little… bite, but time’s of the essence today, pretty girl.” He tapped you on your nose with the pad of one finger as you gagged again. He winked. “Maybe next time.”
It’s effects were almost instantaneous; your head swimming, skin going hot and feverish as three pairs of hands pulled at your clothing. It feels like time has slowed to a trickle, and you struggle weakly as Peter three tugs at the webbing anchoring your wrists to the bedposts. Your head lolled as they leaned you forward, your head settling against Peter one’s chest. You weren’t sure when he’d taken his clothes off, and you can feel the vibration of his laughter against your cheek.
“What else did you put in there?” He asked, and though you couldn’t see Peter two, you could practically hear the shrug in his voice.
“Nothing permanent. Why?” Someone is unzipping your dress, pushing it forward over your shoulders.
“She’s flying,” Peter says softly, dragging a finger down your cheek. You could barely hold a thought in your head; it was almost impossible to hear yourself over the rush of blood in your veins, and the thunderous beat of your own heart. Your skin tingled where they touched you, and you whined at the feel of your arms being lifted over your head as they stripped you.
Peter one slid a finger underneath your chin, lifting it, and you looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes. “Say you want me to kiss you,” he said softly, his eyes dark and unreadable. There was part of you that wanted to lock your jaw tight, to say nothing—but your body wasn’t taking direction, not from you anyway. Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth, and the words fell sluggishly from your lips, though you would have rather drawn them in and held them there until you suffocated.
“I wan’ you t’kiss me,” the words were clumsy, but he groaned anyway, pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. He tasted you eagerly, sucking on your tongue, nibbling your lips until he broke away with a heavy breath.
The warmth at your back, you discovered, was another body—Peter three—who hung his arm over your shoulder as he trailed a series of warm kisses up the side of your throat.
“How’s she taste, Pete?” He asked, dropping a hand to your breast to pluck at your nipple. “Sweet? She sounds sweet.” He sucked at your pulse point, worrying your flesh between his teeth while you whimpered. “Soft, too.”
Peter two grasped your hand, threading his fingers between your own. He guided it down between your bodies, wrapping your loose fingers around his cock. It was half-hard already, a sticky bead of precum hovering on the tip. Peter spread it with his thumb and gripped your hand in his, moving it up and down his shaft in smooth strokes.
Your head lolled back against Peter three’s shoulder, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as the two men moved your body how they saw fit. You caught sight of Peter two at the edge of the bed, his expression dark as he fisted his cock in his hand.
There were fingers sliding against your panties, pulling them aside to stroke at the lips of your cunt, gliding through the wetness growing there. Everything felt somehow both muddied and painfully clear, the pleasure cutting through the murk of your thoughts like a sharp knife. Dimly, you were aware that you were swimming in and out of consciousness; every time you opened your eyes it was like more time had passed in only an instant.
You blinked, and you were on your back, Peter three grinning cheekily at you from between your thighs. You tried to snap them shut around his head, but your body wouldn’t cooperate, your feeble struggle making him smile wider with amusement.
“No, don’ wanna,” you mumbled, and Peter two scoffed.
“No one asked.” There were more hands, turning your head, and the thick, leaking head of someone’s cock pressed against your lips. You whined in protest, but Peter two’s cold voice silenced you. “Open up. And if you bite me, I’ll break your jaw.” Your feeble denial was lost as he shoved his cock into your mouth as far as it would go, and you gagged wetly on it, spit dribbling down your chin.
Your breath hitched in your throat as Peter three suctioned his lips to your clit, sucking hard as your back arched. You gurgled out a sound around his cock, and Peter moaned, drawing out a little before thrusting back in. You managed to suck in a shallow breath around him, your eyes rolling as another Peter sank his tongue into your trembling core.
“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?” He panted, gripping your jaw as he forced his cock wetly into your throat. “And you know how I know?” He leaned over you, his hair falling into his eyes as he continued to push his hips against your face. “I didn’t even give you anything to make you like it.” Peter groaned as he bottomed out, the heavy weight of his sac resting against your chin. “That’s all you.”
Tears began leaking down your cheeks, though you weren’t sure if it was the cruelty of his words, tight shame coiling in your gut at the wet noise coming from between your legs as Peter three lapped at you. Warm tendrils of pleasure spread up your spine. You could barely breathe around the thickness of Peter two’s cock and your head was spinning. Peter three’s fingers poked at your entrance and you huffed through your teeth your hips bucking weakly.
“You taste so good, sweetheart,” his praise rose from between your legs to burn shame into your cheeks, even as your cunt tightened around his fingers like a vice. “Knew you would, knew you’d taste like fucking heaven.” He slid into you with ease, curling his fingers against your pubic bone.
Spots dance on the edges of your vision as Peter two thrusts erratically into your mouth. It was the lack of air, and the thick weight of Peter’s fingers in your pussy that made you keen and convulse, your body trembling as you cum. Peter two cursed, his grip tightening on your jaw as he grunted low and stilled. His cock throbbed , and you could feel the thick, salty jets of his cum beating against your bruised throat. You thought you might pass out, but then he slipped from between your lips with a satisfied grunt.
Someone laughed—probably Peter one—as you gasped for air, tears still running freely down your cheeks. Peter three slapped your thigh and looked up at the other two.
“She should be ready now. Nice and relaxed.” You weren’t sure why that raised more alarms, your fuzzy brain attempting—and failing—to follow the clues. Arms looped underneath yours, pulling you up to your knees. You grumbled out your discomfort, only to be hushed as Peter one settled himself onto the wide bed. His cock was thick and leaking, the tip an angry red.
“Good. I can’t wait anymore,” he said, wrapping his hands around your hips. He tugged you forward, and if it wasn’t for him, you’d have fallen flat onto your face. Instead, Peter three helped lift your hips, and you whined as he sank you down onto the other man’s cock. He didn’t give you time to adjust to each agonizingly thick inch, either, and you let out a raspy sob when he was seated completely inside you.
Peter one’s fingers were pressing hard into the fleshy parts of your hips as he rolled his hips up into you, cursing. “Fucking tight—shit, do you, do you know how tight you are?” Maybe in another circumstance, the lustful awe on his face might have made your stomach tighten, but you were just conscious enough for it to make you hate him as as he drew pleasure from you as unwillingly as water from a stone.
Faintly, you were aware of your own pitiful mewls bouncing off of the walls, mingling with the slick, wet noise of Peter’s cock inside you. He pulled you down against his chest and you went gratefully, his arms circling around your back as he continued to lay into you. You let out a low, panicked moan as you felt thick, familiar fingers prod at the puckered hole of your ass. You tried to turn around, but Peter’s arms tightened around your middle, locking you in place, completely exposed as his cock slid in and out of you.
“Bet she’s tight here, too,” Peter three’s syrupy voice made you shudder. His fingers slid along the sopping folds of your cunt, skirting around Peter one’s cock as he gathered up your wetness. He spread it eagerly onto your hole like lube, and you squealed with discomfort as he began to press inside.
“No, no, Peter, no—” Peter one silenced you with a kiss, murmuring against your lips.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, just relax.” He swallowed down your pleas as Peter three’s fingers breached the tight, resistant ring of your ass. A whine escaped your throat as he pushed further, his way eased by the muscle relaxers Peter two had given you. He sank in all the way to the knuckle, wiggling his fingers as he groaned.
“Fu-uck.” He pumped a few times, his other palm cracking loudly across the meat of your ass before he slid his fingers out of you. You began to struggle as you felt him line his cock up with your unoccupied entrance, the slick head of him pushing against you.
You glanced up at tearfully, another sob tearing free from you as you caught sight of Peter two watching from the edge of the bed, his fist working steadily up and down his cock.
I’m never getting out of here, am I?
Air wheezed out between your tight lips as Peter three began to push forward. His intrusion was steady, slow, but unavoidable as Peter one locked you into place. You were being split in two, the unyielding thickness of both of them pressing into you, only a thin layer of skin separating them. You panted loudly as his hips came to rest against your own, your nails digging into the blanket beneath you.
“God, fuck, this is perfect,” Peter three rasped from behind you, wiggling his hips as he tried to force every available inch of himself into you.
The other Peter—which, you weren’t sure—grunted his assent as they began establishing a rhythm, one pulling out while the other slid home, keeping you full and off kilter. You weren’t sure when it began to feel good, when you started crying not for it to stop, but because you were going to cum again. Your cunt sucking and milking at both of them until their hips shuddered and you felt their warmth spill deep inside your appreciative body.
Much to your dismay, neither of them softened a single inch, grinning at each other over your heaving back. Peter one rolled his hips into yours, and the resounding wet squelch made you hide your face against his chest.
You couldn’t for long, though—Peter two’s fingers began prodding at your head, turning it to the side as his cock pressed insistently against your lips for a second time.
“Hurry up, you two,” he said as you reluctantly unlocked your jaw, allowing him to slip inside. “Strange texted—says the spell will be ready soon.”
Peter three made a displeased noise in the back of his throat. “Fuck. Well, we have time for one more, don’t we?”
Peter one’s lips curved against your ear.
“Sure we do.”
—
Three years later
The coffee shop was fairly busy, but that wasn’t really anything new, not for a Saturday morning. You were grateful to find a seat, your daughter Laila bouncing along beside you.
“I can have cookie this time, mom?” She asked, leaning up on her toes to look at the pastry display case.
“Of course, babe. Anything you want,” you replied, smiling down at her. “We just have to wait our turn.” She’d been born after a night you didn’t quite remember, the result of a drunken one night stand whose name and number you’d never taken down. Still, though, you loved her, and while it hadn’t been ideal, you were doing well on your own.
The man in front of you turned to face you, stepping aside with a smile. “No, please, go ahead. I’m still deciding,” he said, laughing a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. He was handsome, curly brown hair, high, handsome cheekbones, and warm familiar brown eyes. You were startled for a moment, trying to draw his name up from the depths of your memory, but you couldn’t.
I don’t… I don’t know this man.
“Oh, t-thanks,” you said, stepping around him. “Latte, please,” you told the barista, before winking down at Laila. “And a cookie.”
As she was wrapping it up, you went to pull out your wallet, but a warm hand on your own stopped you.
“Please, let me. I haven’t done my good samaritan thing in a while.” You were wary, for a moment, before dismissing it.
“Oh?” You let him hand the barista his card, glancing down at it. You didn’t catch the name, though, the gold lettering shining too bright in the sunlight. “Do you do this often? Buy strange women coffee?”
“Just the ones I think I might like to take to dinner,” he countered, offering you his hand. “I’m Peter, by the way,” he said, offering you a charming smile. “Peter Parker.”
fin