Penny Parker: Spider Reborn

The tablet haunted her all night, fragments of formulas dancing in fevered dreams where tentacles twisted into lovers’ arms. By morning, the decision was made: no more waiting for Stark or anyone else. The counter-agent needed Ock’s proprietary mix—she’d force it from him before the heat turned her into someone unrecognizable.

She suited up, makeshift adjustments holding better today, but every swing pulled fabric taut against her aching body. The pheromones were stronger now, a constant hum making nipples hard points and her core slick. Focus. Just get the antidote.

Ock wasn’t hard to find. His ego demanded spectacle. Police scanner reports pointed to the old Brooklyn Navy Yard—abandoned shipyards perfect for mad science. She arrived at dusk, dropping silently onto a rusted crane overlooking a massive dry dock. There he was, tentacles whirring as he assembled something massive. Vials of the gas shimmered on a nearby table.

She struck fast, webbing two tentacles before he reacted. “Round two, Ock! Hand over the antidote, or—”

He spun, laughing. “Back so soon? Couldn’t stay away?” Two free arms lashed out, one grazing her thigh—jolt straight to her clit. She gasped, faltering.

The fight devolved quickly. She was faster in bursts, but the heat sabotaged her. Every dodge pressed thighs together; every impact vibrated through breasts. Ock noticed, attacks turning teasing—tentacles brushing, coiling near.

“You reek of desperation,” he taunted, one arm snaring her ankle, yanking her close. “Let me help.”

She twisted free, but not before a tentacle tip slid along her inner thigh, cool metal against heated fabric. Pleasure spiked. “No—”

But her body said yes. The next grab she didn’t fight as hard. A tentacle wrapped her waist, lifting her; another pinned her arms. The third probed between her legs, pressing against the suit’s seam until it tore, exposing slick folds.

“Stop,” she whispered, hips bucking forward involuntarily.

Ock’s eyes gleamed. “You don’t want me to.”

The tentacle pushed in—thick, ridged, stretching her. She cried out, back arching as it filled her, dragging against walls. The heat crested immediately; she came with a sob, clenching, thighs quaking.

He didn’t stop. Another orgasm built as it twisted, a secondary arm brushing her clit. “That’s it,” Ock murmured. “Give in.”

The second climax hit harder, vision blurring, wetness soaking the suit. She whimpered, limp, but the fire only banked—still hungry.

Ock lowered her, tentacles retreating enough for him to approach. His coat parted; he freed himself. “Now, for something more personal.”

Dazed, she knelt. Mouth opened, taking him in—salty, hot, filling her throat. She sucked instinctively, tongue swirling.

Then reality crashed in. This was Ock. Enemy.Madman.

Horror surged. She bit down—not to maim, but enough to make him yelp—and bolted, webbing his legs as she swung away.

“This has to stop,” she gasped mid-swing, tears stinging. That could have ended worse. The heat was warping her.

She needed relief. Someone who could handle it without madness.

Logan.

His offer echoed: “When you can’t stand it anymore… you know where to find me.”

The X-Mansion was far, but she swung most of the way, arriving after midnight. Security let her in.