Four years had passed since that night in Krakoa after the Hellfire Gala. Emma sat in the large, expensively furnished head office of Parker-Frost Industries, absentmindedly stroking her swollen belly as she reviewed quarterly reports. The "casual" yet equally expensive silk dress she wore clung to her voluptuous form as always, but with a new shape shown as her belly grew to accommodate the babies growing within her. Her breasts, already impressive before, had swelled further with her pregnancy, straining against the fabric in a way that still drew appreciative glances from Peter whenever he entered the room.
She was heavily pregnant with Peter's children, her boyfriend's babies as accommodating as their father as they kicked gently and moved inside her until she cooed lovingly and caressed her womb to calm them down to sleep. "Settle down, little ones," she whispered, a gentleness in her voice that few beyond Peter had ever been privileged to hear. "Your father will be home soon, and I'd like to greet him without you two performing gymnastics inside me."
The twins—they had discovered it was twins at the twelve-week scan—responded to her voice, their movements slowing as if they truly understood her. Emma smiled, leaning back in her customized ergonomic chair that Peter had insisted on purchasing when her pregnancy started showing. The memories of how they'd ended up here still brought a flush to her cheeks. What had begun as a single night of passion and comfort had evolved into something neither of them had expected.
As Emma continued stroking her pregnant belly, her thoughts drifted back to the beginnings of their relationship four years ago. That night at Krakoa after the Hellfire Gala had been meant as comfort for him—a physical release with no strings attached. Yet something had sparked between them, something neither had expected but both had needed desperately.
"The first six months were the hardest," Emma murmured to herself, remembering how she'd arranged her schedule to visit New York every weekend. She would arrive at his modest apartment Friday evening and leave late Sunday, creating a rhythm that sustained them both through the separation. They'd spend those precious hours exploring the city together—Emma dragging Peter to upscale boutiques, Peter introducing Emma to hole-in-the-wall cafés with the best pastries she'd ever tasted despite their unassuming appearances.
Those early weekends revealed to Emma aspects of herself she'd kept locked away—a capacity for simple joy, for contentment without agenda. They would spend lazy Sunday mornings tangled in his sheets, her head on his chest as he read scientific journals aloud, pausing to explain concepts she pretended not to understand just to hear the excitement in his voice. It filled a void in her she hadn't known existed—a yearning for normality, for connection without the constant chess game of mutant politics.
For Peter, their relationship had been healing in ways he couldn't articulate. Mary Jane's choice to stay with Paul had left wounds Emma could see clearly with or without her telepathy. She watched those wounds gradually close as their weekends together accumulated. His smile came more readily, the shadows behind his eyes receding. "You don't look at me like I'm broken," he'd told her one night, voice thick with emotion. "Everyone else treats me like I'm one bad day away from falling apart since MJ left."
"That's because you're not broken, darling," she'd replied, cupping his face. "You're simply human. And remarkably resilient for it."
By their six-month anniversary, the weekend arrangement had become insufficient. Emma secured a penthouse on the Upper East Side with a view of the park, presented Peter with the key, and simply said, "This commute is becoming tedious. I think we should solve that problem, don't you?" The knowing smile on her face had told him everything—this wasn't just convenience; it was commitment.
His mountain of bills had been her next target. Finding the stack of overdue notices tucked shamefully into his desk drawer, Emma had written a check for the full amount—a mere three thousand dollars that had been crushing him on his reporter's salary but was barely a rounding error on her financial statements. "Consider it an investment in our shared peace of mind," she'd told him when he protested. "Your pride is admirable, darling, but utterly unnecessary with me."
The wardrobe came next—a complete overhaul that maintained his essential Peter-ness while ensuring no boyfriend of Emma Frost would attend industry events in off-the-rack suits. She'd worked with a renowned stylist, carefully selecting pieces that Peter would actually wear rather than simply what she wanted to see him in. The day he walked into a board meeting wearing a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit, confidence radiating from him as naturally as his boyish charm, Emma had felt a possessive pride that surprised her with its intensity.
"Let's go away together," she'd suggested after their first year, as spring turned to summer in New York. "Somewhere we can just be Emma and Peter, not the White Queen and Spider-Man." Hawaii had been perfect—isolated enough for privacy but with all the luxuries Emma considered necessities. They'd rented a private beachfront villa, spending two months swimming in crystalline waters by day and exploring each other's bodies by night.
Those nights in Hawaii had unleashed something primal between them. Peter's inhibitions had fallen away with each passing day, his natural confidence extending to their bedroom activities in ways that left Emma breathless. "Fuck, Emma," he'd growled one night, pinning her wrists above her head as he thrust into her with almost brutal intensity. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to take you like this." His cock—impressively large and thick in ways that had initially surprised her—stretched her deliciously with each powerful stroke, hitting spots inside her that made her normally composed facade shatter completely.
"Then take me, darling," she'd gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist and digging her heels into his ass. "I'm yours to claim." And claim her he had, night after night, their bodies slick with sweat in the tropical heat as they fucked with an intensity that left the sheets ruined and both of them delightfully sore. Emma had discovered that Peter's superhuman stamina extended to all physical activities, his recovery time between orgasms measured in minutes rather than hours. He'd filled her so completely, so repeatedly, that by the end of their Hawaiian getaway she'd half-jokingly wondered if she might already be pregnant.
She wasn't pregnant then, of course, though not for lack of trying on Peter's part—or her own enthusiastic participation. Emma smiled at the memory as she shifted in her chair, her body responding even now to thoughts of their passionate encounters. Four years later, she still found herself wet and ready at the mere thought of Peter walking through the door, his tie loosened after a long day in the lab, his eyes darkening when they fell on her.
"Worth every moment of waiting," Emma murmured, recalling how she'd made absolutely certain she was always prepared for Peter to take her whenever the mood struck them both— which was frequently. She'd taken to wearing easily accessible clothing around their penthouse, delighting in how quickly Peter could have her bent over the nearest surface, her pussy stretched around his nine inches of pure, throbbing cock. "God, you're huge," she'd gasped the first time she'd wrapped her hand around him in their apartment, unable to close her fingers completely around his impressive girth. "And it's all mine." The possessiveness in her voice had made him harder still, a fact she exploited mercilessly whenever she wanted him inside her.
Their sexual compatibility had been matched only by their professional synergy. It hadn't taken Emma long to recognize that Peter had been limiting himself financially, his brilliant mind constrained by perpetual poverty and the demands of his heroic activities. "Darling," she'd said one evening as they lay tangled in their sheets, Peter idly tracing patterns on her bare back, "have you ever considered what you could accomplish if you had proper funding for your inventions?" The question had sparked a conversation that lasted until dawn, Peter's eyes bright with excitement as he outlined innovations he'd conceptualized but never had the resources to develop.
"I could change the world, Em," he'd said, his voice vibrating with passion that matched the intensity he brought to their lovemaking. "Not just as Spider-Man, but as Peter Parker too." Emma had simply kissed him, reached for her phone, and called her financial advisor, instructing them to transfer ten million dollars into a new account by morning. When Peter had protested, she'd silenced him with another kiss. "Consider it seed money for our joint venture. I expect a significant return on my investment, Mr. Parker."
Within months, Parker-Frost Industries had gone from blueprint to reality. "It needs both our names," Peter had insisted despite Emma's suggestion that his alone would suffice. "This is our company—our legacy together. Without you, it would still be scribbles in my notebook." The earnestness in his eyes had melted something in Emma that she hadn't realized was still frozen, and she'd agreed with uncharacteristic quickness. The partnership proved more successful than either had anticipated; Peter wasn't Reed Richards, but the young man might have been close— and unlike Richards, Peter had Emma's ruthless business acumen to complement his scientific genius.
"Fuck, Em, we're actually doing this," Peter had marveled six months later, standing in their first corporate laboratory as technicians installed equipment worth more than he'd earned in his entire life. Emma had responded by locking the door, hiking up her skirt, and bending over his desk. "We certainly are, darling," she'd purred, looking over her shoulder to find his gaze locked on the wet, swollen lips of her pussy, clearly visible with her lack of underwear. "Now why don't you do me right here in our lab? Consider it christening the place properly." He'd been inside her in seconds, his thick shaft stretching her deliciously as he groaned against her neck, "You're so fucking perfect for me."
With Peter's revolutionary technology and Emma's contacts, startup capital, and ruthless tactics for dealing with corrupt politicians and businessmen who tried to stand in their way, the company flourished beyond their wildest expectations. Emma deployed her telepathy strategically in board meetings, not to control minds—Peter had made her promise—but to identify deception and disloyalty before it could threaten their growing empire. Meanwhile, Peter's innovations in renewable energy and medical technology earned them patents Worth billions, his creative genius flourishing under Emma's protective financial umbrella.
Within two years, Parker-Frost Industries had revolutionized the defensive technology sector, developing non-lethal weapons systems that rendered traditional firearms obsolete. Their proprietary "Web Shield" technology—a derivative of Peter's original web fluid formula—could blanket entire city blocks in protective, bullet-resistant barriers that emergency services could easily dissolve when needed. "The beauty of it," Peter had explained during their initial investor presentation, "is that it protects without harming. No collateral damage, no ethical compromises." Emma had watched from the side of the stage, a rare public smile gracing her lips as shareholders' minds practically screamed dollar signs at her. The military contracts alone had generated billions, with international peacekeeping organizations soon following suit.
"I never thought I'd see the day when the United Nations Security Council would be voting unanimously on anything," Emma remarked one evening, scrolling through news reports on her tablet as Peter massaged her swollen feet. She was seven months pregnant now, her belly gloriously round. "But apparently, darling, your technology transcends even decades-old political animosities." The Council had just approved the deployment of Web Shield systems to conflict zones worldwide, with Parker-Frost Industries handling the implementation. "Though I suspect my rather persuasive conversations with certain ambassadors helped smooth the process," she added with a mischievous glint in her eye that made Peter chuckle.
Their hiring practices had caused almost as much stir as their technology. Emma had insisted from day one that mutant applicants receive equal consideration, a stance that initially raised eyebrows among traditional corporate players. "Darling, you've surrounded yourself with the least qualified, most prejudiced executives in Manhattan," she'd observed after their first executive meeting, her voice dripping with disdain. "I suggest we rectify that immediately." Within months, the company boasted the most diverse workforce in the tech sector, with mutants working alongside humans in every department. The press had dubbed them "The Integration Innovators," a title that made Peter beam and Emma roll her eyes despite her private satisfaction.
Charitable giving became another hallmark of their corporate identity. Peter had established the May Parker Foundation, named after his beloved aunt, dedicating an initial endowment of two billion dollars to housing assistance, education for underprivileged youth, and medical research. "Aunt May always said that with privilege comes responsibility," he'd told Emma as they signed the founding documents. "I think she'd be proud of this." Emma had squeezed his hand, a rare moment of public tenderness that their lawyer had pretended not to notice. "She would be immensely proud of you, Peter," Emma had replied, her usual sharp tone softened. "As am I."
The foundation had gone on to fund hospitals in developing nations, disaster relief programs, and scholarship funds that had already helped thousands of students—both human and mutant—pursue higher education.
Their relationship had remained professional in the public eye until Emma's pregnancy became impossible to hide. The announcement came at the annual Parker-Frost Industries gala, with Emma resplendent in a custom-designed white gown that accentuated rather than concealed her pregnant belly. "Yes, Peter and I are expecting twins," she'd confirmed to the shocked reporters, her hand firmly clasping Peter's. "And yes, our relationship extends beyond the boardroom. I suggest you all adjust your narratives accordingly." Peter had stood beside her, his arm protectively around her waist, unable to keep the pride from his face as cameras flashed around them. "We're very happy," he'd added simply, pressing a kiss to Emma's temple that made headline news across the globe by morning.
The reactions from their respective superhero communities had been predictably chaotic. "You and FROST?" Johnny Storm had exclaimed during Peter's next visit to the Baxter Building, his flames flaring with shock. "Dude, when did THIS happen? And how did none of us know?" Peter had shrugged, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Four years ago. And you didn't know because Emma values privacy, and frankly, so do I." Tony Stark had been more calculating, pulling Peter aside at the next Avengers meeting. "Parker, do you realize what this means for your security clearance? She's a telepath with a... complicated history." Peter's response had been uncharacteristically firm. "Tony, I trust Emma with my life—and with the lives of our children. That's not up for debate." Stark had eventually nodded, recognizing the steel beneath Peter's usually easygoing demeanor.
The X-Men's reaction had been equally dramatic, with Emma's former teammates gathering at the new Hellfire Club—now a legitimate business enterprise under her direction—to confront her about the relationship. "Four fucking years, Emma?" Scott Summers had demanded, his voice tight with something between anger and hurt. "And we're just finding out now?" Emma had remained perfectly composed, one hand resting on her pregnant belly as she sipped her sparkling water. "My personal life is precisely that, Scott—personal. Peter makes me happy. He challenges me intellectually, satisfies me physically—" she'd paused, enjoying Scott's obvious discomfort, "—and loves me without conditions or expectations. I wasn't aware I needed the XMen's approval for my choice of partner." Jean Grey had defused the tension, offering genuine congratulations that Emma had accepted with gracious acknowledgment of their complicated history. "You two balance each other," Jean had observed thoughtfully. "In ways I wouldn't have predicted but now seem obvious."
The age difference between them—Emma at 37 and Peter at 29—had become fodder for tabloid speculation, but neither paid it any mind. "Eight years is hardly scandalous," Emma had remarked dismissively after reading a particularly salacious headline. "Though I do appreciate being called a 'MILF' and 'cougar,' if only for the imagery of hunting you down like prey." She'd straddled him on their sofa as she said it, her pregnant belly pressing against his abdomen as she ground herself against his rapidly hardening cock. "Would you like that, darling? Being hunted by me?" Peter had responded by lifting her easily, carrying her to their bedroom as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "I think I've always wanted you to catch me, Em," he'd murmured against her neck before laying her gently on their bed and proceeding to worship every inch of her changing body with his mouth and hands until she'd screamed his name loudly enough that even their soundproofed penthouse couldn't contain it completely.
Their wealth had transformed both their lives, though in different ways. For Peter, who had spent his entire adult life counting pennies, the freedom from financial worry had been initially disorienting but ultimately liberating. "I actually forgot to check my bank account before buying coffee yesterday," he'd admitted to Emma with a sheepish grin several months into their venture. "It felt... weird. Good weird." Emma, accustomed to luxury but new to the particular satisfaction of building something meaningful with a partner, found herself enjoying Peter's wide-eyed appreciation of their success. She'd surprised him on his thirtieth birthday with a private island in the Caribbean, complete with state-of-the-art laboratory facilities built to his exact specifications. "For when you need to think without distraction," she'd explained, presenting him with the deed. "Though I expect you to bring me along regularly—these pregnancy hormones have made me positively insatiable for your cock, and I intend to have you in every room of our new property." Peter had fucked her right there on the helipad after their tour, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her with abandon, both of them oblivious to the tropical storm gathering on the horizon.
Emma's status as the world's first female mutant billionaire had been formally recognized by Forbes, which featured her on its cover with the headline "The White Queen of Wall Street." The article had detailed not only her business acumen but her journey from villain to educator to corporate titan. "Ms. Frost has redefined what's possible for mutant integration into human society's highest echelons," the piece concluded. Emma had read it aloud to Peter one morning as they lay in bed, his hand absently caressing her swollen belly. "And to think," she'd mused, setting aside the magazine, "this is merely the beginning. Once your space mining technology is operational, we'll be looking at numbers that even I find somewhat obscene." Peter had propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes serious despite his smile. "You know what excites me most about that possibility? Not the money—it's what we can do with it. Imagine funding cleanup of every ocean, building sustainable housing for everyone who needs it, revolutionizing education worldwide." Emma had pulled him down for a deep kiss, her heart swelling with an emotion that still sometimes caught her by surprise after four years. "This is why I love you, Peter Parker," she'd whispered against his lips. "Your mind goes immediately to how you can help others, even when presented with the prospect of obscene personal wealth." His response had been to kiss her deeply before sliding down her body, his mouth finding her swollen, sensitive clit as he worshipped her with his tongue until she came with a shuddering gasp, her fingers twisted in his hair while their babies kicked inside her—a perfect moment of connection that reminded her just how dramatically her life had changed since that night at Krakoa four years ago.
Of course, Emma mused, it hadn't all been fun and happiness these past four years. Peter was still a hero, even if the public only knew and saw him as Peter Parker, brilliant scientist and business giant now. Behind closed doors, he still donned the red and blue, still swung between skyscrapers as Spider-Man. The difference, Emma had noticed, was in his efficiency. His battles ended before they could truly begin, villains finding themselves webbed to walls or knocked unconscious within minutes of confronting him. The Rhino had complained to the police during one arrest that "Spidey ain't even bantering anymore—just gets the job done and splits." Even Doctor Octopus had begrudgingly remarked that this was "a new, refreshed Spider-Man," one who seemed to have found his center.
Emma knew exactly why. Peter fought differently now because he had something—someone— to come home to. The knowledge that Emma would be waiting for him, her belly swollen with their children, gave his actions a precision and focus that had been lacking before. "I don't waste time out there anymore," he'd explained one night as he peeled off his mask, dropping onto their balcony after patrol. "Every minute fighting is a minute I'm not with you." He'd pressed his palm against her pregnant belly, smiling as one of the twins kicked against his hand. "And you three are far more important than trading insults with Electro for twenty minutes."
They'd settled into a comfortable routine—Peter handling his CEO responsibilities by day, patrolling for a few hours in the evening, then returning home to Emma and their expanding family. Their nights were filled with passionate lovemaking that had only grown more intense as Emma's pregnancy progressed. "These hormones make me absolutely ravenous for you," she'd confess, guiding his hand between her thighs where he'd find her already slick and ready. "I need your cock inside me right now, darling." Peter never refused her, his own desire for her pregnant body overwhelming his exhaustion as he filled her completely, her moans of pleasure echoing through their penthouse.
But there had been darker moments amidst their happiness—none more terrifying than the A.I.M. incident three months into Emma's pregnancy. She'd been at their downtown lab, reviewing new pharmaceutical prototypes when the attack came. Fifty agents in those ridiculous yellow hazmat suits, led by a mid-level commander who believed capturing Emma Frost would force Peter to surrender his latest invention—a quantum computing system that could revolutionize artificial intelligence. "Miss Frost," the commander had addressed her with smug confidence, "you'll be coming with us. M.O.D.O.K. is most interested in having a conversation with you and your offspring."
Emma had remained perfectly calm, one eyebrow arched in disdain. "I'm afraid I must decline your charming invitation," she'd replied coolly, her hand resting protectively over her barelyshowing belly. "And I should warn you—my Peter tends to overreact when his family is threatened." The commander had laughed, ordering his men to secure her. Emma had reached for her telepathy, preparing to shut down their minds, when she'd felt Peter's consciousness approaching—a familiar presence now burning with something she'd never sensed from him before: pure, murderous rage. "On second thought," she'd said with a smile that made several agents step back, "I believe you're about to learn why threatening a pregnant telepath whose boyfriend has a man with superhuman abilities on call was a catastrophic miscalculation."
The glass ceiling had shattered inward as Spider-Man crashed through it, landing in a crouch that seemed more predatory than his usual playful posture. The absence of quips had been the first warning sign. Peter always talked during fights—jokes, taunts, pop culture references—but this Spider-Man was utterly silent. Even through the mask, Emma could feel the cold fury radiating from him, his mind broadcasting a single thought so powerfully that even nontelepaths might have sensed it: Mine. Protect. MINE.
What followed could only be described as a massacre. Not in terms of fatality—Peter still held to his no-killing rule….at least to those who weren't a world ending threat—but in sheer brutality of execution. He moved through the A.I.M. agents like a force of nature, breaking bones with precision strikes that ensured maximum pain without lethality. When reinforcements arrived, bringing the total to nearly two hundred agents, the outcome never changed. Emma watched, both horrified and oddly aroused, as her usually gentle Peter systematically dismantled every threat to her and their unborn children. "This is what happens," she telepathically whispered to the commander who cowered behind her desk, "when you threaten what belongs to him."
The Avengers had arrived twenty minutes into the fight, alerted by the building's security systems. Captain America, Iron Man, Black Widow, and Hawkeye burst into the lab expecting to find Emma in danger—instead, they found her calmly sitting in her ergonomic chair, sipping tea as Spider-Man continued his methodical destruction of the remaining A.I.M. forces. "Should we... help him?" Hawkeye had asked uncertainly, watching as Peter webbed three agentes together and slammed them into a wall with enough force to crack the concrete. Black Widow had shaken her head, her eyes narrowed in professional assessment. "I've never seen him fight like this," she'd murmured, a note of both respect and fear in her voice. "No wasted movement, no hesitation, no mercy. This isn't Spider-Man—this is a predator."
Emma had finally intervened when M.O.D.O.K. himself appeared, hovering above the battlefield with his too-large head pulsing with mental energy. Peter had gone completely still upon seeing the mastermind behind the attack, his body coiling like a spring. "He's going to kill him," Captain America had realized aloud, moving to intercept, but Emma had raised a hand to stop him. "Allow me," she'd said quietly, rising from her chair with graceful confidence despite her pregnancy. She'd walked directly to Peter, placing herself between him and M.O.D.O.K., her hand gently touching his chest where his heart raced beneath the costume. "Darling," she'd said softly, her mind embracing his, soothing the jagged edges of his rage. "I'm safe. The babies are safe. You've protected us beautifully, my love. But I need you to come back to me now."
The change had been immediate—Peter's body relaxing from its combat stance as his focusshifted entirely to Emma. His gloved hands had moved to her belly, checking her for injuries with desperate concern. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you? The babies—" Emma had silenced him with a gentle kiss to his masked face. "We're perfectly fine, thanks to you," she'd assured him, deliberately pitching her voice to carry to the assembled Avengers and the terrified M.O.D.O.K. "Though I believe our would-be kidnapper was about to surrender and beg for mercy, weren't you?" She'd turned to M.O.D.O.K., her eyes flashing white briefly as she sent him a mental image of what Peter had been planning to do pull his oversized brain directly through the narrow opening of his skull. The villain had blanched visibly, quickly agreeing to surrender as Iron Man moved to take him into custody.
Later that night, after the Avengers had departed with their prisoners and Peter had carried Emma home, cradling her against his chest as he swung through the city, they'd made love with an intensity that left them both breathless. "I would have killed for you today," Peter had confessed as he moved inside her, his thick cock stretching her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "If you hadn't stopped me, I would have torn M.O.D.O.K. apart without hesitation or regret." Emma had pulled him closer, her nails digging into his back as pleasure built within her. "I know, darling," she'd gasped, feeling him throb inside her as her words inflamed him further. "Your darkness is as much a part of you as your light—and I love both equally." She'd climaxed around him then, her pussy clenching rhythmically as she screamed his name, the intensity of her orgasmo triggering his own as he flooded her with hot, thick spurts of cum, both of them clinging to each other as if the world might try to tear them apart if they let go for even a moment.
Emma sighed in contentment, returning to the present as she caressed her swollen belly through the expensive white silk. The twins shifted beneath her touch, strong kicks that made her smile with maternal pride. She'd been so lost in memories that she'd almost forgotten the quarterly budget meeting droning through her laptop speaker—utterly unnecessary since she'd memorized every figure weeks ago and had the papers before her, but appearances must be maintained. Her attention snapped back fully when her secretary's voice interrupted the monotonous presentation.
"Ms. Frost, you have visitors from Krakoa," Angela announced through the intercom, her professional tone never wavering despite the frequent appearances of mutant dignitaries in their offices. "Shall I have them wait or send them in?"
"Send them in, Angela," Emma replied, straightening in her chair and smoothing her dress over her prominent baby bump. She wondered if it was the Cuckoos again, mentally preparing herself for their enthusiastic fawning. The girls had been utterly fascinated by her pregnancy, treating it like the most extraordinary scientific marvel rather than the quite ordinary biological process it actually was—though Emma had to admit, there was nothing ordinary about carrying Peter Parker's children.
The Cuckoos had taken to hovering all over her in amazement ever since she'd started showing, five identical blonde telepaths fluttering around her like excited birds, waiting on her every need just for the opportunity to speak telepathically to their "siblings" growing in her womb. They would giggle delightedly every time the babies moved or kicked, treating each tiny movement as if it were a profound cosmic event. "They recognize us already," Celeste had declared with authority during their last visit, while her sisters nodded in unison. "They're going to be exceptionally powerful telepaths, you know," Phoebe had added, her eyes wide with anticipation. Emma found their enthusiasm both touching and slightly exhausting.
That wasn't the only reason for their frequent visits, of course. The young women hadn't stopped pestering her about "sharing" Peter with them ever since they'd accidentally glimpsed his considerable endowment in Emma's mind during an unguarded moment months ago. The mental image of Peter's thick nine-inch cock stretching Emma's pussy had leaked during a particularly heated telepathic exchange, and the five young women had gone absolutely silente for a full thirty seconds—a record in Emma's experience—before erupting into a chorus of demands and pleading.
"Emma, you simply must share," Irma had insisted during their last visit while Peter was away on business. "We're practically family," Esme had added with a pout that might have worked on someone with less backbone. "Think of it as a bonding experience," suggested Phoebe, failing utterly to keep the naked lust from her voice. "Five of us, one of you, and more Peter than even six telepaths could handle," Celeste had continued, her eyes glazed with fantasy. "We promise to let you watch... at first," Sophie had finished with a smirk that reminded Emma uncomfortably of herself at their age.
It always amused Emma immensely when she refused their increasingly creative propositions and they pouted collectively, their eyes inevitably drifting to Peter's crotch whenever he entered the room, five identical pairs of blue eyes widening slightly as they tried and failed to mask their telepathic whispers from Emma's considerably more experienced mental shields. "It looks even bigger in person," she'd caught Phoebe thinking during a dinner party last month. "I bet he could take two of us at once," Celeste had added to their shared mental conversation. Emma had nearly choked on her wine, shooting them a look that promised painful consequences if they didn't immediately redirect their thoughts. She couldn't entirely blame them, of course— Peter was, by any objective measure, exceptionally well-endowed, and Emma herself had been known to mentally broadcast her appreciation of that fact on multiple occasions. Still, some things were not meant to be shared, not even among telepaths who considered themselves sisters of a sort.
The doors to her office swung open, and Emma's expectations of five identical blondes evaporated as Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier strode in instead. Magneto cut na imposing figure in his crimson attire, silver hair gleaming under the office lights, while Xavier walked beside him, the massive Cerebro helmet obscuring the upper half of his face, its metallic surface reflecting Emma's pregnant form as they approached her desk.
"Emma, my dear, you're positively glowing," Xavier said warmly, his hands clasped before him as his eyes remained hidden beneath the helmet's shadow. "Motherhood becomes you." Magneto inclined his head in agreement, a small smile playing across his usually stern features as he regarded her swollen belly with something approaching reverence.
"Cut the crap, Charles," Emma replied coldly, one hand resting protectively over her stomach where the twins kicked vigorously as if sensing the powerful mutants in their mother's presence. "Ever since you regained the ability to walk, you've been everywhere, haven't you? Perhaps you should consider returning to the wheelchair. The humble look suited you." Her sharp words contrasted with the soft circles her thumb traced over her belly, a maternal gesture that didn't escape either man's notice.
Xavier merely chuckled, seemingly unbothered by her barb. "Your tongue remains as cutting as ever. I've missed that particular brand of honesty on the Quiet Council." He stepped closer, the helmet's sensors humming faintly. "We all have, in fact. Krakoa isn't quite the same without your... calming presence."
"Calming? That's certainly a creative interpretation of my contribution," Emma scoffed, shifting in her chair to accommodate her pregnancy. "I seem to recall several meetings ending with threats of psychic evisceration—usually directed at Sebastian." The memory brought a genuine smile to her lips; putting Shaw in his place had always been one of her favorite pastimes.
Magneto moved to the window, gazing out at the Manhattan skyline where Parker-Frost Industries' logo now adorned several buildings. "What Charles is failing to communicate effectively is that we need you, Emma. The nation requires stability now more than ever, especially with the humans growing increasingly... curious about our resurrection protocols." His voice carried the weight of countless diplomatic confrontations, yet there was an unifamiliar note of something like pleading beneath his customary authority.
Emma laughed, the sound like crystal champagne flutes clinking together—beautiful but with a dangerous edge. "If the Hellfire Galas we've hosted these past four years haven't sufficiently thawed relations between mutants and humans, I doubt anything will. Peter and I spent over fifty million on helping setting up last year's gala alone." She stroked her belly absently, remembering how resplendent she'd looked in her custom Frost Couture gown, strategically designed to showcase both her pregnancy and her décolletage to maximum effect. "The humans drank our champagne, ate our caviar, and swooned over our fashion. Presidents and prime ministers posed for photos with mutants they'd once condemned. And they still complain when Krakoa demonstrates the ability to resurrect our own?" She shook her head, platinum blonde hair catching the light. "If that's all you've come to discuss, gentlemen, I suggest you leave. My schedule is rather full these days."
Magneto and Xavier exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that made Emma narrow her eyes suspiciously. After decades as a telepath, she recognized when important information was being withheld. "There is... something else," Magneto said carefully, his posture straightening as if bracing for her reaction. "Something of considerable importance."
"Your babies," Xavier said, his voice gentle but firm. The Cerebro helmet hummed slightly as he spoke, its mysterious technology resonating with some unseen energy. "We've come about your children, Emma."
Emma's hand moved protectively over her swollen belly, her expression hardening into the diamond-cold mask that had intimidated countless adversaries. "What about my children?" she asked, her voice dropping several degrees in temperature. The twins kicked vigorously beneath her palm, as if sensing her sudden tension. "Choose your next words very carefully, Charles."
Xavier removed the Cerebro helmet, revealing eyes filled with a mixture of awe and concern. "I detected them during a routine scan last week. It was... unprecedented." He set the helmet on her desk, its metal surface gleaming under the office lights. "Emma, your children register to Cerebro like a million blazing suns. I've never encountered anything like it in all my years of using this technology—not even when Jean housed the Phoenix Force."
"The combination of your telepathic powers and Parker's enhanced genetic structure has created something... extraordinary," Magneto continued, moving closer to her desk. His eyes fixed on her pregnant belly with an intensity that made Emma bristle. "The mutant potential within them exceeds anything we've documented. Beyond Omega level, Emma. Perhaps even surpassing Franklin Richards."
Emma's lips curved into a proud smile despite her wariness. "Of course they're exceptional. They're mine." She ran her hand over the taut skin of her belly, feeling one of the twins press a foot against her palm. "Though I fail to see why this warrants a personal visit from both of you. Surely a congratulatory fruit basket would have sufficed." Xavier leaned forward, his eyes shining with barely contained excitement. "Emma, children of this potential need proper guidance—proper training from the earliest age. They need to be raised in an environment where their abilities can be nurtured and controlled." He paused, exchanging another look with Magneto before continuing. "They should be on Krakoa, among their kind. The first mutant children born into our new nation—symbols of what's possible for our future."
Emma's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "Let me be perfectly clear, Charles. My children will be born right here in Manhattan, in the private medical suite Peter has built for precisely this purpose. They will be raised by their parents, not turned into symbols or weapons or whatever euphemism you're currently using for child soldiers." Her eyes flashed white briefly as her temper spiked. "And if you think for one moment that I would entrust their upbringing to a man who has a history of sending teenagers into combat—or to a nation whose leadership includes Sebastian Shaw and Mystique—then pregnancy has clearly affected my reputation more than I realized."
Magneto stepped forward, his voice grave. "You don't understand the danger, Emma. If humans—particularly those in positions of power—discover the potential your children possess, they will stop at nothing to neutralize that threat. We've seen it before. Project Wideawake, the Sentinel Programs, the Weapon Plus initiatives... your children would become targets before they even take their first breath outside your womb."
"The human governments have tolerated mutants thus far because they believe they can contain us," Xavier added, his fingers steepled. "But children with power beyond the Omega level ones that are already around? They would view that as an existential threat to humanity itself."
Emma's laughter filled the office, cold and crystalline. "Oh Charles, Magnus... you poor, deluded old men." She caressed her belly as she leaned forward. "You think I fear humans coming for my children? Let me educate you about something you've clearly never witnessed—a truly enraged Spider-Man who's removed his kid gloves." Her smile was predatory as she continued. "You saw only a glimpse during that A.I.M. incident. Peter holds back. Always. But for our children?" She shook her head. "If anyone threatened them, there wouldn't be enough left to identify."
"And that's assuming I leave enough of their minds intact for them to even remember how to breathe," Emma added, her eyes flashing white momentarily. "Between my telepathy and Peter's abilities, anyone foolish enough to target our family would face consequences beyond their comprehension." She stood with surprising grace despite her advanced pregnancy, placing both hands on her desk as she fixed them with an icy stare. "Human or mutant, government or individual—the distinction is irrelevant. Touch our children, and extinction becomes a mercy we might not grant."
The room fell silent, both men regarding her with expressions that mingled respect with something like fear. Even Magneto, who had faced down armies and gods alike, seemed to reassess the woman before him—not just as the White Queen or a powerful telepath, but as a mother prepared to unmake reality itself to protect her offspring.
Emma tilted her head slightly, her telepathic senses prickling at the edges of her awareness. "There's something else you're not telling me," she said, her voice soft but unyielding. "What else brings the two most powerful mutants on Earth to my office when a simple video call would have sufficed for this particular guilt trip?"
Xavier and Magneto exchanged another significant glance, the kind that confirmed Emma's suspicions. Xavier finally sighed, removing the Cerebro helmet from her desk and holding it in both hands like a man about to deliver particularly difficult news.
"Emma," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, "the truth is that despite our best efforts—despite all the resources of Krakoa, despite the resurrection protocols, despite Moira's genetic research—your children with Peter Parker are the only offspring born to mutants in the last four years."
Emma's perfect composure faltered for the first time since their arrival. "What?" she whispered, one hand instinctively moving to cradle her belly where the twins shifted restlessly. "That's impossible. Jean and Scott were talking about starting a family. Rogue and Remy have been trying since they married. And the younger mutants—"
"All unsuccessful," Magneto confirmed grimly. "We've documented over three hundred attempts by mutant couples to conceive in the past four years. Your pregnancy is the only one that has endured beyond the first trimester." He gestured toward her swollen belly. "And you carry twins, no less. It defies every pattern we've observed."
Emma sank back into her chair, genuine alarm replacing her earlier confidence. The implications crashed through her mind like tidal waves—extinction by attrition, the slow death of an entire species not through violence but simply through the inability to reproduce. "The resurrection protocols," she began, her analytical mind already seeking solutions even as shock rippled through her. "They should—"
"They restore the body to its previous state," Xavier interrupted gently. "They cannot create new life. Only natural conception can do that." He leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers. "Emma, your children may not just be exceptionally powerful. They may be the future of mutantkind itself."
Emma stared at Xavier and Magneto, her mind racing through the implications. If mutants couldn't reproduce, it meant eventual extinction despite the resurrection protocols. Her hand moved protectively over her swollen belly as the twins kicked vigorously, as if protesting the very idea. "Are you suggesting," she began slowly, "that there's something special about me? Some unique aspect of my mutation that allows me to bear children while other mutants cannot?"
Xavier shook his head, a strange expression crossing his face. "No, Emma. We've tested that hypothesis extensively with genetic samples from dozens of female mutants, including those with healing factors and adaptable physiologies." He hesitated, his eyes flicking to Magneto before continuing. "Our findings indicate the key factor isn't you, Emma. It's Peter."
"Peter?" Emma repeated, genuinely surprised for perhaps the first time in years. "What do you mean?"
"His genetic structure is... remarkable," Xavier said, sounding like an impressed scientist rather than the world's most powerful telepath. "The radioactive mutation that granted him his abilities has created something we've never encountered before. His DNA bonds seamlessly with mutant genetic structures, bypassing the compatibility issues that plague other humanmutant conceptions." Xavier clasped his hands together. "To put it bluntly, Spider-Man appears to be particularly virile when it comes to producing mutant offspring."
Magneto stepped forward, his usually stern face now deadly serious. "The Quiet Council has identified approximately twelve humans worldwide with similar genetic properties. Captain America is among them, as are a handful of other individuals. Our research suggests these men consistently produce mutant children when they mate with mutant women sometimes even with non-mutant partners."
"And you can't simply... what? Kidnap these men and set up a breeding program?" Emma asked sarcastically, though she already knew the answer. The thought of anyone attempting to kidnap her man made her telepathic powers flare protectively.
"Such actions would spark international incidents that Krakoa cannot afford," Magneto replied gravely. "Humans already fear us enough without giving them reason to believe we're abducting civilians. And while Captain Rogers might sympathize with our plight, I somehow doubt he would agree to father children with dozens of mutant women simply to preserve our species, no matter how noble the cause."
Xavier shifted uncomfortably. "Which leaves us with a limited set of options, and Peter is— statistically speaking—the most compatible match we've found. His genetic adaptability is unparalleled, and the evidence..." he gestured toward Emma's pregnant belly, "speaks for itself."
Emma's initial worry dissolved into incredulous laughter, the sound filling her office as both men stared at her in confusion. "Let me understand this correctly," she said when her mirth subsided enough to speak. "You've come here today to inform me that my boyfriends cum is apparently the miracle cure for mutant extinction, and you what? Want me to pimp him out to the desperate women of Krakoa?" Her blue eyes sparkled with dangerous amusement. "Shall I set up a schedule? Perhaps Monday through Wednesday he services the telepaths, Thursday through Saturday the physical mutants, and Sundays..." she tapped her chin thoughtfully, "well, Sundays could be for special cases. Mystique might enjoy shapeshifting for him, and I'm sure Storm would create quite the electrifying experience."
Emma expected her scathing humor to land as it always did—with either uncomfortable silence or forced chuckles—but to her genuine surprise, neither Xavier nor Magneto so much as cracked a smile. The room fell into an unsettling quiet as Xavier clasped his hands together, leaning forward with an earnestness that made Emma's eyebrows rise.
"That is precisely what we're proposing, Emma," Xavier said, his tone deadly serious. "Though perhaps with less crude scheduling than you've suggested. Several prominent mutants have already discreetly volunteered should you and Peter be amenable." He paused, clearly choosing his next words carefully. "Ororo was among the first to offer herself, actually. She emphasized that she would consider it not just a duty to mutantkind, but an honor."
Emma's laughter rang through her office again, more incredulous than before. "Storm? Perfect, untouchable Ororo Munroe is volunteering to fuck my boyfriend?" She shook her head, platinum blonde hair swaying with the movement. "The goddess herself, spreading her legs for Spider-Man. How absolutely delicious." Despite her mocking tone, Emma found herself genuinely considering the proposition, her analytical mind already weighing the implications. The continuation of mutantkind against her own possessiveness of Peter. The survival of na entire species versus her admittedly territorial nature when it came to her boyfriends considerable assets.
"We understand this is an extraordinary request," Magneto said, his voice somber as he regarded her. "But these are extraordinary times. The resurrection protocols sustain us for now, but without new births, we face a different kind of extinction. A world where mutants become living fossils, unable to evolve or grow." He gestured toward her swollen belly. "What you carry within you may be the salvation of our entire species."
Emma ran her hand over her belly thoughtfully, feeling the twins shift beneath her touch. "I will discuss this with Peter tonight," she finally said, her voice softer than before. "I make no promises. My man is not a breeding stallion to be paraded before eager mares, no matter how desperate the situation." She fixed both men with an icy stare. "And if—a substantial if—we were to agree to any arrangement, it would be on our terms, with our conditions, under my supervision."
Xavier and Magneto exchanged glances that contained equal parts relief and wariness. "Of course," Xavier nodded. "We would expect nothing less." He hesitated before adding, "There is one more thing you should know, Emma. Our studies suggest it isn't merely Peter's radioactive genetic structure that makes this possible. There's something else something we don't fully understand."
"What do you mean?" Emma asked, her interest genuinely piqued.
"Spider-Man appears to be connected, perhaps unknowingly, to a greater power in the universe," Xavier explained, his voice dropping to an almost reverent whisper. "The Web of Life and Destiny, some call it. Others reference the Great Weaver or simply the Spider-Totem. Whatever the name, this connection enhances his already remarkable genetic compatibility with mutant DNA." Xavier's eyes moved to her pregnant belly. "Any children he fathers with mutant women won't just be powerful, Emma. They will likely possess abilities that even gods themselves would fear—perfect bridges between humanity and mutantkind, connected to both Peter's cosmic web and the X-gene's limitless potential."
The two men departed shortly after, leaving Emma alone in her office, one hand absently stroking her belly as she processed everything they had told her. The implications were staggering—not just for mutantkind, but for her own children and family. Peter's genetics, combined with the power of the X-gene, creating offspring of unprecedented potential. She couldn't help but smirk as she imagined telling Storm that Peter had agreed to their proposition.
Proud, regal Ororo, with her perfect chocolate skin and piercing blue eyes, those long legs wrapped around Peter's waist as he fucked a baby into her. The weather goddess herself, moaning and writhing beneath Spider-Man's considerable talents, that magnificent ass of hers bouncing against him with each thrust as she begged him to fill her with his precious seed. Emma would watch, of course—partly to ensure no emotional attachment formed, but mostly because the thought of watching her mans thick cock stretching another woman while she directed the entire encounter was undeniably arousing.
Emma shifted in her chair, suddenly aware of the growing dampness between her thighs. Pregnancy had made her impossibly horny, and the mere thought of Peter's virility—so potent it could potentially save an entire species—sent a pulse of desire through her core. She reached for her phone, glancing at the clock. Peter would be finishing his meeting with the R&D department soon.
Emma was about to call Peter when her cellphone suddenly lit up with an unknown number. She answered with a cool, "Emma Frost speaking," while her free hand continued to stroke her swollen belly where the twins kicked enthusiastically beneath her palm.
"Emma! We know what Charles and Erik just told you!" five identical voices chorused through the speaker, their excitement practically vibrating through the connection. The Cuckoos, of course—their telepathic abilities making it impossible to keep secrets on Krakoa. "We want to officially request first position in the lineup. It's only fair since we've been asking for months already," Phoebe continued, her sisters giggling in the background.
"We promise to worship Peter's magnificent, mutantkind-saving cock properly," Celeste added, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that made Emma roll her eyes. "We've been practicing techniques specifically calibrated to his size and stamina requirements," Irma chimed in with clinical precision that somehow made the statement even more obscene.
Esme's voice pushed to the forefront, practically purring, "We'll call him Daddy if he punishes us properly for being naughty little telepaths. We've been very, very bad, sneaking into your thoughts about his equipment." The quintuplets dissolved into giggles before Sophie continued, "And we'll take turns sucking those huge balls dry while you watch from the cuck chair, critiquing our technique and—"
"No," Emma said simply, her tone amused but firm as she cut through their breathless fantasies. "Absolutely not. And the fact that you think I would ever sit in a 'cuck chair,' as you so elegantly phrased it, suggests you know far less about me than you believe." She couldn't help the smirk that curved her lips as she heard their collective disappointed sighs. "Your enthusiasm is noted, girls, but if—and I stress if—Peter and I decide to pursue this particular solution to mutantkind's fertility crisis, I assure you that more mature candidates would be considered first."
She ended the call, chuckling softly to herself as she pictured five identical pouting faces on Krakoa. "Angela," she called through the intercom, "please make reservations for two at Lumière for seven o'clock. Peter and I will be dining privately tonight." As her assistant confirmed the reservation, Emma gathered her belongings, her mind already shifting to more important matters than the Cuckoos' adolescent fantasies.
As she strode from her office toward the elevator, her hand cradled her belly protectively while she contemplated the evening ahead. Perhaps it was finally time to formalize their relationship legally as well as emotionally. After four years together and with twins on the way, marriage seemed the logical next step—especially if Peter would potentially be fathering children with other women. The thought of him entering such arrangements without the security of being he husband first seemed unacceptable.
Emma knew Peter would never propose himself, not out of lack of love, but from that persistente insecurity that had survived even his astronomical success. Despite co-founding Parker-Frost Industries and becoming one of the wealthiest men in New York, Peter still occasionally looked at her with wonder, as if expecting to wake from a dream where someone like him could build a life with the White Queen. It was endearing and infuriating in equal measure, but tonight she would put an end to it.
The elevator doors closed on her satisfied smile as she pictured the ring she'd commissioned months ago—a flawless diamond set in vibranium with delicate web-like patterns etched into the band. It sat waiting in her safe at home, alongside the documentation transferring a significant portion of her assets into the twins' trust fund. Tonight, Emma Frost would ask Peter Parker to marry her, and if the resulting enthusiastic lovemaking happened to fulfill certain pregnancy cravings she'd been experiencing all day, all the better.
Emma squirmed against the midnight blue silk sheets, her platinum blonde hair splayed across the pillow like spilled moonlight. Her back arched as Peter's tongue masterfully circled her swollen clit, sending waves of pleasure radiating through her body. "Oh god, Peter!" she cried out, her normally composed demeanor completely shattered by his attentions. Her pregnancy had made her even more sensitive than usual, turning each flick of his tongue into an almost overwhelming sensation that bordered on the telepathic.
Peter paused briefly, looking up from between her thighs with a mischievous smile. "You taste even better than before," he murmured, his breath hot against her wet flesh. "Something about you carrying our baby..." He pressed reverente kisses along the curve of her rounded belly, his hands gently caressing the taut skin stretched over their growing child. Emma's breath caught as she watched him worship her changed body with such tenderness, before he returned to feast between her legs with renewed hunger.
"Fuck, don't stop," Emma gasped, her fingers threading through his brown hair to hold him firmly in place. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably on either side of his head as he sucked her clit between his lips, applying just the perfect amount of pressure. The White Queen, feared telepath and former villain, reduced to a quivering mess under a young man's tongue. She'd have been embarrassed if it didn't feel so goddamn incredible. Her ice-blue lipstick had smudged from biting her lower lip, her composure completely abandoned.
Perhaps, she mentally thought, proposing marriage tonight wasn't the best idea. Her thoughts fragmented as another pulse of pleasure tore through her.
Who am I kidding? It was my best idea yet. The thought gleefully burst through Emma's mind as another shock of pleasure from Peter's tongue sent her hips bucking against his face. The White Queen had planned everything meticulously, right down to the moment she would propose, and now she was reaping the rewards of her boldness. Her normally disciplined mind fractured into kaleidoscopic bursts of pleasure as Peter's skilled mouth worked miracles between her thighs.
"Fuck, Peter!" she cried out, her legs shaking uncontrollably. "Your mouth... should be... registered as a lethal weapon!" Her words dissolved into incoherent moans as he hummed against her sensitive flesh, the vibration sending another wave of ecstasy crashing through her swollen body. One hand caressed her pregnant belly while the other clutched desperately at the silk sheets beneath her.
Emma's mind flashed back to just hours earlier at the restaurant, where soft lighting had cast a golden glow across their table. She hadn't gotten down on one knee—the White Queen would never kneel, pregnant or not—but instead had slid the small velvet box across the table with deliberate slowness, her ice-blue eyes never leaving his. The box, designed with her signature telepathic technology, had opened automatically to reveal the gleaming vibranium and Diamond ring inside.
"Marry me, Peter," she had commanded, her voice dripping with sultry authority despite the vulnerability of the moment. "Make me your wife. Give me your last name." Her fingers had traced circles on the back of his hand as she added, "Emma Parker has quite the ring to it, don't you think?" The restaurant had seemed to fade away around them, her telepathy creating a bubble of privacy in the crowded space.
His eyes had darkened instantly, pupils dilating with a potent mixture of lust and unbridled happiness. "Yes," he'd breathed, not a moment's hesitation in his voice. "God, yes, Emma." In one fluid motion, he'd slipped the ring onto his finger, thrown several hundred-dollar bills onto the table, and grabbed her arm. "Home. Now," he'd growled with an intensity that made her core clench with anticipation.
The sensation of teleportation had washed over her, that brief disorienting moment as Peter activated his emergency transport tech—something he'd developed after a particularly nasty encounter with Doc Ock had left him stranded. They'd materialized in their bedroom, Peter's hands already activating the molecule-destabilizing device he'd engineered for "costume emergencies." Her ridiculously expensive white dress—a Valentino worth more than most cars—began to disintegrate from her body.
"Peter!" she'd protested, though the hungry smile on her face betrayed her excitement. "That dress cost more than your first apartment!" But her words had lacked any real resistance or heat as the fabric disappeared, leaving her standing in nothing but a white lace thong, her pregnant belly and swollen breasts on full display. The hungry look in his eyes as he drank in the sight of her had made her feel more desirable than when she was in her prime at the Hellfire Club.
"I'll buy you ten more," he'd promised, his voice rough with desire as he'd gently guided her to their bed. "Right now, I need to taste my fiancée." The word had sent a thrill through her as he'd spread her legs with reverent hands, positioning himself between her thighs with single-minded purpose. "I need to worship the mother of my child," he'd murmured against her inner thigh, his breath hot against her skin.
And now here she was, the feared White Queen, former villain and current X-Men member, writhing beneath Peter Parker's talented tongue as he ate her cunt like he owed her money. Her telepathy was flickering out of control, projecting fragments of her pleasure into his mind, creating a feedback loop of sensation between them. "Peter," she gasped, teetering on the edge of another shattering orgasm, "your fiancée is about to cum all over your face—again." Her fingers tightened in his hair as the wave began to crest, her ice-queen composure completely and gloriously shattered by the man who would soon be her husband.
"You're going to be doing this for the rest of your life," Peter growled against her wet flesh, his voice vibrating against her sensitive clit. "My beautiful fiancée is going to be cumming on my face until we're old and gray." His fingers dug possessively into her thighs as he redoubled his efforts, tongue flattening against her swollen bud before plunging deep into her entrance. "Making me the happiest man in the fucking world deserves a lifetime of worship."
Emma's pale cheeks flushed pink with triumph and pleasure, her ice-blue eyes rolling back as another wave of ecstasy crashed through her. The combination of his skillful tongue and his devoted words sent electric pulses of satisfaction through her body that had nothing to do with the physical pleasure alone. She had done it—she had secured him, claimed him, made the amazing Spider-Man hers in every way that mattered.
"Yes," she hissed, one hand moving to cradle her pregnant belly while the other remained tangled in his thick brown hair. "Yours, Peter. All yours." The words were barely coherent as his tongue found that perfect spot again, causing her thighs to tremble uncontrollably. Her normally sharp mind grew hazy with pleasure, but one crystal-clear thought remained: I've won.
Her chest swelled with vicious victory as images of Mary Jane Watson flashed unbidden through her mind—the redhead who'd once had Peter wrapped around her finger. Poor little Mary Jane, Emma thought with cruel satisfaction. I've taken everything from you, darling. Her telepathy flared with her emotions, unconsciously projecting fractured images of her triumph into the ether, though she maintained enough control to keep them from Peter's mind.
Emma's hands tightened in Peter's hair as she ground herself against his face, riding the wave of both physical pleasure and vindictive triumph. She had stolen a hero—not just any hero, but Spider-Man himself, one of the most beloved and pure-hearted champions New York had ever known. She had taken the father of Mary Jane's potential children and made him her own. The former villain, the White Queen, had seduced away the girl-next-door's perfect man, and now he wore her ring on his finger.
And what a man he is, Emma thought as Peter's tongue swirled inside her, his thumb pressing perfectly against her clit. Better than any man the redhead could have imagined—attentive, brilliant, and with a sexual appetite that matched Emma's own considerable demands. "Fuck, Peter!" she cried out as his fingers joined his mouth, two thick digits curling inside her to stroke against her g-spot with unerring precision. "Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop!"
The White Queen had won again, she thought viciously as the pressure built to an unbearable crescendo within her core. Just as she had clawed her way from poverty to become a billionaire, just as she had transformed from villain to hero on her own terms, she had claimed the prize she wanted most. Peter Parker—Spider-Man, genius, and now father to her child—belonged to Emma Frost, and no flame-haired model would ever touch him again.
"Peter!" Emma screamed, her back arching dramatically off the bed as the dam finally broke. Her orgasm crashed through her with such intensity that her telepathy flared wildly, projecting her ecstasy outward in a psychic wave that would likely give their neighbors particularly vivid dreams tonight. Her cunt pulsed and gushed around his tongue and fingers, flooding his eager mouth with her hot juices as her inner walls clenched rhythmically.
Peter groaned appreciatively against her flesh, drinking eagerly from her release as though it were the sweetest nectar. His hands held her thighs firmly as they shook uncontrollably, his tongue never ceasing its worship as he lapped up everything she offered. "That's it, Em," he murmured between eager swallows, his chin and lips glistening with her essence. "Give it all to me. Every drop belongs to your fiancé." The word 'fiancé' on his lips sent another aftershock through her body, making her jerk against his mouth as the White Queen surrendered completely to her pleasure and her triumph.
As the echoes of her climax gradually subsided, Emma collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving with exertion. Tiny aftershocks continued to ripple through her body, making her thighs twitch involuntarily against Peter's shoulders. Her normally sharp mind felt pleasantly foggy, wrapped in the warm cocoon of post-orgasmic bliss. The White Queen rarely allowed herself such complete surrender, such total vulnerability—but with Peter, the rules had Always been different.
"Fuck," she breathed, her British accent more pronounced in her state of relaxation. A lazy, satisfied smile spread across her face as she ran her fingers through her disheveled platinum blonde hair. "I believe I've created a monster with that tongue of yours, darling." She propped herself up on her elbows, her ice-blue eyes widening appreciatively as they traveled down his body. There, straining obscenely against the confines of his trousers, was the unmistakable outline of Peter's impressive cock—nine thick inches making a wet tent in the fabric. A dark patch had formed where his pre-cum had soaked through, evidence of just how aroused he'd become while pleasuring her.
"Come here," Emma purred, her voice a sultry command as she beckoned him with one perfectly manicured finger. "Let your fiancée ease that magnificent cock of yours. It looks positively painful, trapped in there." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared hungrily at the prominent bulge. "I want to feel those nine inches stretching me open while you fill me with your hot cum."
To her surprise and mild irritation, Peter didn't move from his position between her thighs. Instead, he lowered his head once more, his tongue resuming its delicious torment of her oversensitive flesh. Emma gasped, her back arching involuntarily as another jolt of pleasurepain shot through her still-quivering cunt. "Peter!" she protested, though her body betrayed her as her hips automatically tilted up to meet his mouth.
"Not done worshipping you yet," he murmured against her wet flesh, his hot breath sending new shivers cascading through her. His hands caressed the swell of her pregnant belly with reverence before sliding down to hold her thighs apart. "The woman who put a ring on my finger deserves everything I can give her." His tongue delved deeper, exploring her folds with deliberate slowness, as if he intended to memorize every inch of her.
Emma moaned despite herself, her body responding traitorously to his skilled mouth even as her mind fought for control of the situation. "Enough, darling," she managed, her voice caught between command and plea. "Put that magnificent cock inside me and get some comfort." She reached down, attempting to guide him upward. "I want to feel you stretch me open while I squeeze every drop of cum from those heavy balls of yours."
Peter raised his head just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with lust but his expression resolute. "No, Em. Tonight is all about you," he said firmly, pressing a tender kiss to her inner thigh. "You've made me the happiest man alive. You're carrying our children. You've agreed to be my wife." His hands caressed her swollen belly with reverence. "Tonight, I want to make you cum until you can't remember your own name."
Emma, however, wasn't about to let the man she loved suffer for his chivalry. The White Queen had never been one to relinquish control—not in the boardroom, not in battle, and certainly not in the bedroom. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed with determination as she activated her telekinetic abilities, a faint glow emanating from her temples. With a single thought, she lifted Peter's body from between her thighs, suspending him momentarily in the air above her. "I appreciate the sentiment, darling," she purred, "but I think we've established that I get what I want."
Peter gasped as he felt himself floating, his body weightless under the influence of her powers. Emma's telekinesis made quick work of his remaining clothes, methodically removing them piece by piece until he was completely naked before her. His massive cock finally sprung free from its confinement, bobbing heavily in the air, the thick shaft glistening with a copious amount of precum that had accumulated during his extended worship of her cunt. "Emma," he protested weakly, but the hunger in his eyes betrayed his true desires.
"Hush now," she commanded, gently depositing his naked form beside her on the midnight blue silk sheets. Emma rolled onto her side, pressing her swollen breasts and pregnant belly against his muscular torso as she captured his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting herself on his lips and moaning appreciatively at the flavor of their combined essence. "Mmm, we taste divine together," she whispered against his lips, one hand reaching up to cup his face tenderly. "My fiancé. The father of my children. My soon-to-be husband."
As they kissed, his cock twitched violently between them, smearing hot, viscous precum across her pale, meaty thighs and the taut skin of her rounded belly. Each pulse released another thick dribble of clear fluid, creating shining trails across her flesh that caught the dim light of their bedroom. Emma reached down, running a perfectly manicured finger through the sticky substance before bringing it to her lips and sucking it clean with a theatrical moan. "Always so responsive," she teased, her eyes never leaving his. "And always so deliciously abundant."
"I was trying to make tonight special for you," Peter breathed, his hands gently caressing the curve of her belly with reverence. "You deserve to be worshipped properly." His cock jerked again involuntarily as her hand brushed against it, releasing another thick glob of precum that landed hot and wet on her thigh. "I'm worried about... the babies," he admitted, his concern genuine despite the desperate need evident in his strained voice.
Emma's expression softened momentarily, touched by his concern even in his state of obvious arousal. She pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back to meet his gaze. "If you're worried about the children," she said, her British accent more pronounced as her voice dropped to a seductive whisper, "there are other ways to cool you off, darling." Her eyes glinted with mischief and hunger. "Ways that I happen to excel at."
Without waiting for a response, Emma's delicate hand wrapped firmly around his thick shaft, her cool fingers a stark contrast to the burning heat of his flesh. She began to stroke him with practiced expertise, twisting slightly on the upstroke and applying just the right amount of pressure to make his hips buck involuntarily against her grip. "Does that feel good, Peter?" she asked, her tone dripping with false innocence as his face contorted with pleasure. "Tell me how much you love your fiancée's hands on your big cock."
"Fuck, Emma," Peter groaned, his head falling back against the pillows as she continued her skilled manipulation of his throbbing member. "Your hands feel amazing, but your mouth—Christ, your mouth—" He couldn't finish the sentence, his words dissolving into a guttural moan as Emma slid down his body with predatory grace, positioning herself between his powerful thighs. She met his desperate gaze with a triumphant smile, her ice-blue eyes gleaming with wicked intent as she lowered her face toward his straining erection.
"As you wish," Emma purred, her ice-blue lipstick smearing slightly as she wrapped her full, painted lips around the swollen head of his cock. She sucked hard immediately, not bothering with teasing licks or gentle kisses—the White Queen took what she wanted, and right now she wanted to feel her fiancé coming apart under her expert ministrations. Her cheeks hollowed as she applied intense suction, her tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge of his cockhead while her hand worked the thick base in perfect synchronization. Years of practice had taught her exactly how Peter liked to be pleasured, and she employed every trick in her considerable arsenal, determined to reward his earlier devotion with mind-shattering ecstasy of his own.
Emma sank down further, taking another inch of Peter's impressive cock into her hot mouth. As she pulled back, she noticed with satisfaction how her ice-blue lipstick left perfect rings along his shaft, marking him as thoroughly hers. The sight sent a thrill of possessive pleasure through her core. Each stroke of her lips down his length left another blue circle, like ownership bands claiming territory that would never again belong to anyone else—especially not to that redheaded nobody who'd squandered her chance with him.
Poor little Mary Jane, Emma thought viciously as she hollowed her cheeks and swallowed more of his length, feeling him throb against her tongue. Such a pretty face, decent body too, I suppose—if you like that girl-next-door type. She twisted her hand at the base of his cock in time with her mouth's movements, feeling a surge of cruel satisfaction as Peter's hips bucked involuntarily. But what good did it do you in the end, darling? No boyfriend ever since that paul character disappeared and shaking your mediocre ass on runways while I'm swallowing your exboyfriend's magnificent cock.
"Fuck, Emma!" Peter groaned, his fingers tangling in her platinum blonde hair as she took him impossibly deep. "Nobody does this like you... nobody..." His words sent another wave of triumph crashing through her as she hummed appreciatively around his girth, the vibrations making him twitch and leak more precum directly onto her tongue.
She pulled off with an obscene pop, her ice-blue eyes locked on his as she deliberately stroked his spit-slicked shaft. "Of course not, darling," she purred, her accent thick with arousal. "Because I wasn't born to be an accessory on your arm. I'm a queen taking what she deserves."
She flicked her tongue against his sensitive frenulum, collecting the pearly bead of fluid that formed there. Unlike your precious MJ, running around New York, spreading her legs for sleazy fat movie directors just to get two-bit roles in forgettable films.
Emma's mind continued its cruel trajectory as she resumed her skilled ministrations, taking him so deep that the head of his cock brushed against the back of her throat. Maybe when she hears about our engagement, she'll finally give up the pretense of legitimate acting and go straight into porn. At least then she'd be honest about what she's willing to do for attention. The wicked thought made her moan around Peter's shaft, the vibrations causing him to thrust upward involuntarily.
"God, the way you look with my cock in your mouth," Peter gasped, his eyes glazed with pleasure as he watched her platinum head bob between his thighs. "Those blue lipstick rings marking how deep you've taken me... it's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen." His praise fed her ego, stoked her sense of victory over the woman who'd once had him wrapped around her finger.
Emma pulled back again, deliberately letting saliva connect her lips to his cock in a glistening strand as she smiled up at him. "I do so love marking what's mine," she said, her voice a predatory purr as she stroked him firmly. "And you are mine now, Peter Parker. All mine." She never deserved you, Emma thought venomously. That ordinary little girl playing at being special. I'm the White Queen, darling—I was born extraordinary.
Her telepathy flickered outward momentarily, picking up stray thoughts from her fiancé— flashes of pure devotion, untainted by memories of his past love. It delighted her that in this moment of ecstasy, Mary Jane Watson didn't even register in his consciousness. Emma had won so completely that the competition had been utterly erased. The thought spurred her to renewed enthusiasm, taking him deeper than before, her throat relaxing to accommodate his impressive girth as her nose pressed against the firm muscles of his abdomen.
"Emma, I'm close," Peter warned, his voice strained as his hips began to thrust upward with more urgency. "So fucking close..." His fingers tightened in her hair, not controlling but anchoring himself as pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. Emma moaned her approval around his thickness, her ice-blue eyes never leaving his face as she watched him approach the edge. She wanted to witness every microsecond of his surrender to her, wanted to feel him explode down her throat while she thought about how thoroughly she'd claimed what should never have been Mary Jane's in the first place. The poor girl might be beautiful enough for magazine covers, but she would spend the rest of her life knowing she'd lost the greatest man in New York to a woman who knew exactly how to keep him.
With a guttural groan that seemed to rise from the depths of his being, Peter finally surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. "Emma, fuck—I'm cumming!" His cock pulsed violently between her lips as the first thick rope of semen erupted directly onto her eager tongue. Emma moaned appreciatively around his girth, her ice-blue eyes locked on his as wave after wave of his hot, viscous seed flooded her mouth. Each powerful spurt was as copious as always—the superhuman virility serving as yet another reminder of her perfect choice in mate. She kept her lips sealed tightly around his sensitive head, sucking deliberately to extract every last drop, her throat working rhythmically as she swallowed his abundant release with practiced ease.
"God, Emma," Peter gasped, his hand still tangled in her platinum blonde hair as his hips jerked with each aftershock. The sight of the feared White Queen eagerly drinking his cum sent another pulse of pleasure through his spent body. With trembling hands, he gently pulled back, his still-hard cock slipping from between her swollen lips with an obscene pop that echoed in the quiet bedroom. "Not done yet," he murmured, his voice rough with lingering desire as he rose to his knees, towering over her reclined form. His hand wrapped around his glistening shaft, still rock-hard and dripping with a mixture of her saliva and his own cum.
Emma leaned back against the pillows, her ice-blue eyes half-lidded with satisfaction as she watched him stroke himself above her. She held her head perfectly still and proud, her chin tilted upward in regal expectation, platinum hair framing her aristocratic features like a halo. "Mark your territory, darling," she commanded, her voice thick with arousal. "Show me who I belong to." Peter's hand moved faster along his length, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his second climax approached with startling speed. With a hoarse cry, he erupted again, thick ropes of pearly white cum splattering across her flawless features, clinging to her long eyelashes, streaking her alabaster cheeks, and dripping down to pool in the hollow of her throat before sliding lower to coat her swollen breasts.
"Fuck, look at you," Peter groaned, his cock still twitching in his grip as the last few drops oozed from the tip. "So fucking beautiful covered in my cum." Emma's lips curled into a satisfied smile as she reveled in the warm weight of his seed on her skin, feeling it sliding down her face like the most exclusive of facial treatments. Without prompting, Peter moved forward, pressing the head of his cock against her parted lips. Emma opened obediently, her pink tongue darting out to collect the remaining fluid from his sensitive tip before taking him into her mouth once more, gently sucking and licking him clean with tender, almost reverent care.
This is how you please a true hero, Emma thought triumphantly as she nursed the softening length, her mind unable to resist conjuring Mary Jane's face, twisted with jealousy and regret. This is what you threw away, you abandoning cunt. The venom in her thoughts contrasted sharply with the loving attention she lavished on Peter's cock. She gradually released him from her mouth, making a show of letting her head fall back slightly, opening wide to display the pool of cum still coating her tongue. Peter's eyes darkened with renewed hunger at the sight of his seed glistening on her pink tongue, framed by those ice-blue lips now smeared beyond recognition. Emma maintained eye contact as she theatrically swallowed, her throat working visibly before she opened again to show him the empty cavern of her mouth.
"Good boy," Emma purred, her voice honey-sweet as she leaned forward to press a tender kiss to the tip of his now semi-hard cock. Her cum-streaked hand caressed the still-warm shaft with delicate strokes, her touch feather-light as she coaxed it into relaxation. "Time to rest now, darling," she cooed, speaking directly to his member as if it were a separate entity deserving of its own praise. "You've done magnificently, as always. Such a good, obedient cock." She pressed another kiss to the sensitive head, her tongue darting out to collect a final drop of fluid. "Soon we'll play again, but for now, rest."
With graceful movements that belied her pregnant state, Emma slid from the silk-covered bed, rising to her full height at the edge of their bedroom. She made no move to wipe the cum from her face or breasts, wearing Peter's seed like a badge of honor as she stretched languidly, knowing full well the picture she presented. Her rounded belly protruded proudly, her full breasts hung heavy with their pregnant weight, and her ass—still remarkably firm despite her condition—jiggled enticingly as she began to walk toward their ensuite bathroom. Each deliberate step caused her hips to sway hypnotically, the moonlight streaming through the window catching the pearly trails of semen that decorated her pale skin.
"I believe I need a shower," Emma announced, glancing over her shoulder with a coy smile. The cum on her face caught the light like expensive jewelry, dripping from her chin and eyelashes in glittering strands that enhanced rather than diminished her regal beauty. She paused at the bathroom doorway, one hand resting on the frame as she turned to face him fully. "Though I may require some... company, darling. Pregnancy makes certain positions in the shower rather challenging, and I find myself in need of a strong pair of hands." Her free hand traced a path through the cooling semen on her breasts, collecting it on her fingertip before bringing it to her lips and sucking it clean with theatrical relish. "Coming?"
Peter was on his feet and halfway across the room before she had even finished speaking, his spent cock already showing signs of renewed interest as he hurried after his fiancée.
.....................
Emma and Peter lay entwined an hour later, their naked bodies radiating heat beneath the tangled sheets. Peter's muscular arm wrapped protectively around Emma's waist, both their hands resting on the subtle swell of her growing womb. Emma's platinum blonde hair splayed across the pillow as she nestled her back against his chest, her round ass pressing satisfyingly against his semi-hard cock. "I can feel her mind forming already," Emma whispered, a rare tenderness in her voice as her fingers guided Peter's hand in gentle circles over her belly. "She'll have your strength and my telepathy." Peter nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating mix of her expensive perfume and the lingering scent of their sex. The warmth of their embrace and the lingering bliss of their multiple orgasms were lulling him toward sleep, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.
"So," Emma's voice suddenly took on that playful tone that always meant trouble, "how would you like to fuck Storm?" Peter's eyes flew open instantly, sleep forgotten as he propped himself up on one elbow to stare down at Emma's smirking face. "Wait, WHAT?!" he exclaimed, wondering if his exhaustion was making him hear things. Emma giggled and told him of Xavier and magnetos request.
..............
OMAKE
Paul's eyes fluttered open to the pungent stench of rot and decay, his body aching as he realized he'd been dumped like yesterday's garbage in what appeared to be an abandoned landfill. "How long have I been out?" he groaned, struggling to sit upright among the heaps of trash bags and discarded furniture. His mind raced with urgency – he needed to find Mary Jane, needed to warn the Avengers about what Venom had done to him. "MJ must be worried sick," he muttered, trying to orient himself. "I have to tell her everything, tell the Avengers about Venom..." He froze mid-thought as the unmistakable shing of a katana being unsheathed cut through the air, followed by a guttural, inhuman growl that sent ice through his veins. Slowly turning his head, Paul's eyes widened in disbelief.
Behind him stood the most absurd scene imaginable – Deadpool, katanas gleaming in the moonlight, and Venom, tongue lolling obscenely, both twerking in perfect synchronized rhythm. "Well, well, well! Look who's trying for a dramatic resurrection arc!" Deadpool sang out, striking a pose. "Sorry, budget Peter Parker knockoff, but trash Marvel characters should stay dead! It's in the contract – page forty-seven, paragraph six!" Venom's massive form lurched forward, drool dripping between fanged teeth. "WE AGREE WITH THE ANNOYING RED ONE... FOR ONCE," the symbiote growled as they descended upon Paul with terrifying speed. Paul barely had time to raise his arms in defense before Deadpool's boot connected with his face. "This is what happens when you try to disturb Peter's life, Paul-who-nobody-asked-for!" Deadpool chided, helping Venom pile additional garbage bags over Paul's battered form. Once satisfied with their disposal job, the unlikely duo broke into enthusiastic griddy dances, high-fived with exaggerated sound effects, and sauntered away into the night, leaving Paul to contemplate his life choices beneath a mountain of refuse.