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Gwen hauled herself onto the water tower, perched on the edge of the tank with her legs dangling over empty air. The city sprawled beneath her, all concrete, glass, and late-stage capitalism catching the fading afternoon sun. She pulled a modified web-shooter from her backpack, turning it over in her gloved hands.
"Alright, let's see what you've got."
The past three prototypes had been disasters. The first batch crystallized mid-air, raining down some not-so-tasty toppings on a halal cart. The second turned gelatinous after thirty seconds—cost her a purse-snatcher that slipped through her webbing mid-tug. The third had actually worked perfectly…
Until it almost dissolved her glove.
This version though. This one used a polymer cross-linking agent she'd borrowed, well, permanently borrowed from Oscorp's materials lab. All it took was a totally accidental chemical spill and little misdirection courtesy of some leggings that hugged her legs just right and the lab supervisor was none the wiser. Well worth the objectification too, the new formulation spread on contact before solidifying, creating a wider net with triple the adhesive strength.
She aimed at a lingerie billboard across the street and let out a squeeze.
The web shot out, silvery and thick. It hit the model's perfect teeth and exploded outward, coating the entire smile in a sheet of sticky white.
She giggled. It kind of looked like one of those videos where the guy—
"Dammit Gwen, get your mind out of the gutter."
She fired again, this time at the brick wall of the building opposite. The web mushroomed on contact, covering an area the size of a car hood before drying into a hard mound.
She webbed down to street level, landing in the alley between the buildings. She pressed her palm against it. Pulled. Her hand stuck fast, the webbing stretching but not releasing. She had to yank hard, and even then, residue clung to her glove.
"That'll do, pig. That'll do."
Her phone buzzed. She fished it out, reading a news alert.
Spider-Woman's Brutal Tactics: When Does Crime-Fighting Go Too Far?
She rolled her eyes as she scrolled through. Third one this week. Some pundit droning on about excessive force. About how she'd dislocated a guy's shoulder a few days ago during that bodega robbery. But never mind that he'd had a knife to the cashier's throat. Never mind that the cashier went home to his family that night because Gwen had moved fast and hit hard. And never mind that he really tried hitting on her after.
"Unbelievable."
The comments were a cesspool, as always.
Kumbaya69: Maybe she should try asking nicely first? Violence isn't the answer.
xX_TruthSeeker_Xx: She's setting a bad example for young girls. Where's the compassion?
MAGAmaniac: Women should use their feminine qualities to de-escalate. Leave it to the men to clean it up.
Gwen's jaw clenched. Her thumb hovered over the reply button before she caught herself. Don't engage. Don't give them the satisfaction.
But seriously—feminine qualities? What was she supposed to do, bake the bad guys cookies until they turned themselves in? She couldn't even bake!
Gwen shoved her phone back in her pocket, breathing hard through her nose. Three years of this. Three years of saving ungrateful troglodytes who thought crime-fighting should look like a damn afterschool special.
"There's nothing soft about me," she muttered, testing the web-shooter's release mechanism. "They want soft? The bullets they shoot at me aren't very soft."
Gwen fired one more test shot, watching it splatter across a dumpster and harden within seconds. The coverage was impressive. Whoever got hit with this was not getting out.
Perfect.
"Let's go find some trouble."
Right on cue, her spine tingled.
Not the good kind of tingle either. Well, technically all tingles were good tingles these days, but this one meant business. Spidey-sense. Finally.
Gwen's head snapped east, toward the warehouse district. Three blocks? Four? The sensation crawled up her neck, insistent. Definitely trouble. Probably the fun kind with punching involved, not the boring kind with paperwork.
She swung between buildings, her webs carrying her across the gap with practiced ease. The warehouse district materialized below—all rusted fire escapes and crumbling brick. Her spidey-sense zeroed in on an alleyway tucked between two warehouses, its security gate half-peeled back like a sardine can.
She landed on a nearby roof, crouching behind a water tower. Three figures worked the back door to what appeared to be a storage facility, their movements efficient despite their bulk. The biggest one was easily pushing three hundred pounds. He kept watch while the other two jimmied the remaining security gate.
"No way."
The Three Little Pigs. She'd know those silhouettes anywhere.
Not because they were particularly threatening—they weren't. But because six months ago she'd webbed all three of them to the side of the building after they'd knocked over a jewelry store, and when the police arrived to take them down, a cascade of McDonald's wrappers and what appeared to be an entire uneaten Cinnabon had tumbled out of their coats. Someone had filmed it. Someone always filmed it.
#FastFoodFelons trended for four days.
Today, the fattest one wore a shirt that looked like it was painted onto his gut. The second was a little less overweight, but still sporting some lunch lady arms. The third was the "skinniest" of the three, though that wasn't saying much.
The security gate screeched as they wrenched it fully open.
"Showtime."
Gwen dropped from the roof, firing a web that caught the lamppost. She swung down in a wide arc, landing on a dumpster with a metallic thunk.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Bacon, Ham, and Sausage. Miss me, boys?"
All three spun around. The fat one—definitely Sausage—groaned.
"You gotta be kidding me."
"Nope. No kidding. Though I am surprised you guys are back at it. Figured prison food would've helped with that whole..." She gestured vaguely at their collective mass. "Situation."
"Real original," Ham said, the stocky one. "Spider-bitch shows up with fat jokes. What's next, gonna comment on my mom too?"
"Only if she's an accomplice. Is she driving the getaway car? Or does she need two seats?"
Bacon, the merely overweight one, cracked his knuckles. "Think you're funny?"
"Funnier than your last mugshot. Seriously, did you sneeze or was that your actual face?"
Sausage stepped forward, his gut preceding him by a solid foot. "Keep talking. See what happens."
"What, you'll eat me?" Gwen hopped off the dumpster, landing in a crouch. "Actually, scratch that. You guys probably already had second dinner."
"You know what?" Ham stepped forward. "Last time, you got lucky. This time, we brought insurance."
"Let me guess—life insurance? Because those cholesterol levels—"
"Shut the fuck up!"
All three rushed her at once, then Ham and Bacon spread out, trying to flank her. Classic pincer move. Would've been intimidating if they could move faster than a leisurely waddle.
Gwen backflipped over Sausage's crowbar swing, landing on his shoulders. She rode him like a mechanical bull for exactly two seconds before launching herself up, firing a web at Ham's face.
"Blinded by the white! Tale as old as time!"
"That doesn't even make sense!" Sausage wheezed, already winded.
"Neither does being a fat thief, but here we are, making choices."
Bacon swung wild, his fist cutting through empty air as Gwen twisted sideways. The momentum carried him forward, and she helped it along with a boot to his backside. He crashed into Ham, both of them sprawling in a tangle of limbs and labored breathing.
"And they say a life of crime is hard," Gwen said, landing in a crouch. "You guys make it look impossible."
Sausage recovered first, charging with surprising speed—well, surprising for someone who probably hadn't seen his own feet in years. He swung the crowbar in a wide arc, forcing Gwen to web-zip to the side.
She fired a web at his ankles. The strand caught, and she yanked hard. His legs swept out from under him, and gravity did the rest. He went down like a felled tree, the impact shaking loose a rain of rust from the fire escape above.
"Timber!"
Ham struggled to his feet, shoving Bacon off him. "You're dead, you little—"
Gwen web-lined across the alley, planting both feet into his chest. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to send him stumbling backward into the wall. He hit with a wet slap, then slid down, gasping.
Bacon was the last one standing, backing toward the open security gate. His eyes darted between Gwen and his fallen partners.
"Going somewhere?" Gwen asked.
"This ain't over."
"It literally is, though."
He made a break for it, but his short, stubby legs couldn't generate enough speed. Gwen web-zipped in front of him, and he skidded to a halt, arms windmilling.
"I think it's a little late to pick up running," she said.
He swung at her. She ducked under it, swept his legs, and he toppled forward. She guided his fall with a web to the shoulder, steering him directly into Sausage, who'd just managed to get to his hands and knees.
They collapsed together in a heap, Sausage wheezing something that might've been a curse or just the sound of air escaping his blubber.
Ham crawled over, apparently deciding that if he couldn't stand, he might as well join the pile. He flopped next to them, and all three lay there, breathing hard, staring up at the sky like they were questioning their life choices.
"And that," Gwen said, brushing off her hands, "is why you don't skip leg day. Or any day. Maybe start with a day."
Deciding this was the perfect moment to test her new invention, Gwen raised her wrist, switching on the modified web-shooter and aiming it at the pile of defeated criminals.
"Better luck next tim—"
Click.
Nothing.
She frowned, shook her wrist, tried again.
Click. Click.
"Oh, come on."
The stickiness. Had to be. The new formula was probably gumming up the internal mechanism, creating too much friction in the release valve. She should've accounted for that, should've added a lubricant or—
She tapped the shooter's side, then pressed the release button several times in quick succession. Still nothing.
"Are you seriously having technical difficulties?" Bacon muttered from the ground.
"Shut up. I'm working on it."
Gwen twisted the shooter's adjustment ring, trying to relieve the pressure. The mechanism was seized tight, the polymer likely crystallizing inside the chamber. She needed to manually clear it, but the access port was on the underside, near the cartridge feed.
She knelt down, balancing the shooter against her knee for leverage. Her fingers worked the small release catch, trying to pop the maintenance panel.
"Come on, you piece of—"
SPLAT
The shooter exploded. Not fire-and-shrapnel exploded. But pressure-release exploded, the built-up polymer erupting in a pressurized burst that sprayed everywhere—the dumpster, the wall, the ground, but most importantly, her knees.
The webbing spread, fast and thick, exactly like it was supposed to. Her knees sank into it, and by the time she realized what was happening, the polymer had already begun its rapid-hardening phase.
"No. No, no, no—"
She tried to stand. The webbing held. Her knees were glued to the ground, locked in place by her own formula. The sticky mass had already solidified into that hard, unyielding shell she'd been so proud of twenty minutes ago.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Gwen yanked at her left knee. The webbing stretched maybe an inch before snapping back. She braced her palms against the ground, trying to lever herself up. Nothing. The polymer had formed a perfect seal, spreading across her knees and shins like concrete.
"Okay. Okay, this is fine. Just need to—"
She raised her right wrist, aimed at the fire escape above. Gave the trigger a squeeze.
Nothing.
She squeezed harder.
Still nothing.
"No. No way."
Gwen twisted the shooter, checking the cartridge indicator. Empty. Completely empty. The explosion hadn't just webbed her to the ground—it had vented the entire reservoir. Both shooters. She checked the left one anyway, already knowing what she'd find.
Zero fluid remaining.
"Are you flipping kidding me right now?"
Behind her, Sausage groaned. The sound of shifting weight. Then Bacon's voice, wheezy but gaining strength.
"Hey. Hey, did she just—"
"Shut up," Ham said. "I'm trying to breathe."
More movement. The scrape of shoes on concrete. Gwen looked over her shoulder in time to see Sausage roll onto his side, then push himself up to sitting. His eyes focused on her, then dropped to her knees, stuck fast to the ground.
His expression changed. Confusion became realization became something far worse.
"Well, well, well."
"Don't," Gwen said.
Ham sat up, following Sausage's gaze. "Is she...?"
"She's stuck." Bacon was grinning now, the kind of grin that showed too many teeth. "Spider-bitch fuckin' webbed herself!"
"Hey, hey… let's be reasonable here."
But they were already standing. Slowly, because their bodies were still protesting the beating she'd given them, but standing nonetheless. Bacon dusted off his pants. Ham cracked his neck, the sound echoing in the alley. Sausage took a step forward, then another.
"What was that about leg day?" he asked.
Gwen's fingers flexed, her mind racing through options. The webbing would dissolve eventually—two hours, maybe three. But that was two hours of being immobilized. Two hours of being vulnerable.
Two hours with these three assholes closing in.
"You guys really want to do this?" She kept her voice level. "Because assaulting a hero? That's a whole different charge."
"Hero?" Bacon laughed.
Sausage's grin widened as he circled around to her side, his heavy footfalls deliberate. "Hero. Right. You know what I'm seeing? I'm seeing a little spider that got caught in her web."
"Caught in my own web?" She forced a laugh. "That's rich coming from guys who got winded walking twenty feet. What's your plan here, exactly? Stand around until I die of boredom?"
Bacon crouched down in front of her, close enough that she could smell the grease on his breath. His eyes traced down from her face, lingering on the curve of her suit where it hugged her chest.
"You got a real mouth on you, you know that?"
"Yeah, well, you've got a real gut on you. We all have our talents."
His hand shot out, faster than she expected, fingers hooking under the edge of her mask. Gwen jerked back, but the webbing held her in place. The fabric peeled away from her face with a soft tearing sound, and suddenly the night air hit her skin, her blonde hair spilling free.
"There we go," Bacon said, dangling the mask. "Much better."
"Give that back!" Gwen yelled, squirming her body around trying to hide her face from them.
"Or what?" He dropped it on the ground. "You gonna web me? Oh wait—"
Sausage whistled low. "Damn. Didn't expect that. She's actually pretty hot."
"For a bitch who won't shut up," Ham added, moving closer. His shadow fell across her. "But yeah. I see it."
Gwen's jaw clenched, still trying to look away. "See what? Your last remaining brain cells dying?"
"See why you wear that tight little suit." Bacon's gaze dropped again, more obvious this time. "You're showing off, aren't you? Prancing around in that thing. Bet you love the attention."
"Actually, I love kicking ass. The attention's just a bonus—oh wait, you already know all about bonuses. Tell me, when's your next free Happy Meal?"
Ham reached down, his thick fingers brushing her shoulder. "She's still talking."
"Yeah, she is." Sausage stepped behind her, and Gwen felt his presence there, too close. "Maybe we should give that mouth something better to do."
The implication landed like a brick. Gwen's stomach twisted, but she kept her expression hard.
"Wow. Really? That's where we're going? Because I gotta tell you, even for you three, that's pathetic."
"Pathetic?" Bacon leaned in, his face inches from hers. "You're the one stuck on the ground, sweetheart. We can do whatever we want."
"Cool fantasy. But here's the thing, cops are probably already on their way. Security alarm went off the second you cracked that gate."
"Bullshit," Ham said, but his eyes flicked toward the warehouse.
"No bullshit. Silent alarm. Standard on commercial properties in this district." She had no idea if that was true. "So unless you want to add sexual assault to breaking and entering, I'd suggest you three waddle away while you still can."
Sausage's hand landed on her shoulder from behind, heavy and possessive. "Maybe we take our chances."
"Yeah? How'd that work out five minutes ago?"
"Five minutes ago, you had webs." Bacon's fingers caught her chin, tilting her face up. "Now you're just a pretty girl with a smart mouth."
Gwen's eyes narrowed, meeting Bacon's stare without flinching. "At least I've got the smart part down. What's your excuse for being dumb and fat?"
Sausage's grip tightened on her shoulder. "What'd you say?"
"You heard me, lard-ass. Or did the grease clog your ears too?"
His hand shot to her face, fingers digging into her cheeks from behind. He wrenched her head back, tilting her face up until she was staring at his upside-down silhouette looming over her.
"You know what your problem is?" His voice had dropped an octave, gone quiet in that dangerous way. "You don't know when to shut the fuck up."
Gwen tried to jerk away, but his grip held firm. She saw his throat start to work and watched his mouth contort. Wait, was he?
PUHTUH
He spat.
A fat glob of saliva landed on her tongue with an audible THWAP, thick and warm. Her eyes went wide, disgust flooding through her as the drool pooled in her forced-open mouth.
"There," Sausage said, his voice dripping satisfaction. "That shut you up real quick, didn't it?"
Bacon's laughter exploded first, sharp and nasty. Ham joined in, his wheezing chuckle building until both were doubled over.
"Oh shit," Bacon managed between gasps. "Did you see her face?"
Gwen's tongue recoiled, trying to escape the viscous blob sitting in her mouth. The taste hit her—stale cigarettes and something greasy, something that coated the inside of her cheeks. Her gag reflex kicked in, throat convulsing.
But before she could spit it out, Sausage's sweaty palm clamped over her mouth. His other hand pinched her nose shut, sealing off air. The world narrowed to the pressure on her face and the disgusting weight on her tongue.
"Swallow," he ordered.
Gwen thrashed, her bound knees screaming against the webbing. She tried to bite, but his hand covered too much. Tried to breathe through her nose, met only his thick, hot-dog scented fingers. Her lungs started to burn. The spit pooled, mixing with her saliva, and her body made the choice her mind refused.
She swallowed.
The glob slid down her throat, leaving a trail of revulsion. Sausage released her, and she immediately coughed, gasping for air.
"That's a good girl," he said, patting her head like a dog.
Ham was still laughing. "No way! She actually did it!"
Gwen spat again, trying to clear the taste. Nothing worked. It coated everything, lingered in the back of her throat. Her stomach churned, threatening to bring it back up.
"What's wrong?" Bacon crouched in front of her again, his grin vicious. "Cat got your tongue?"
She wanted to stay quiet. Should've stayed quiet. But her mouth opened anyway.
"Tastes like... burgers. You been... gargling Big Macs or—"
CRACK
Bacon's backhand caught her across the cheek, snapping her head to the side. Pain bloomed hot and immediate, stars dancing in her vision. The coppery taste of blood joined the lingering filth in her mouth.
"There's that mouth again," he said, flexing his fingers.
Sausage grabbed a fistful of her hair from behind, yanking her head back. "You just don't learn, do you?"
Ham moved closer, his shadow blocking what little light the streetlamp provided. "Maybe we need to teach her a lesson."
Bacon's fingers hooked into the neckline of her suit, right below the collarbone. The fabric was military-grade synthetic, designed to withstand friction and impact.
It tore like tissue paper.
RRRIP
The sound cut through the alley, followed by cool air hitting her chest. Gwen bucked hard, her toned abs flexing as she tried to twist away, but Sausage's grip in her hair held her head locked in place.
"No—stop!"
"Now she asks nicely," Ham said, his thick fingers joining Bacon's, widening the tear. The suit split down the middle, exposing her perky breasts underneath, nipples hardening in the cool night air.
Bacon grabbed the edges and pulled. More tearing. The suit peeled away from her torso in ragged strips, the polymer fibers separating with wet snapping sounds. Her sides, her stomach, her ribs—all bare to the night air.
Ham's sweaty palm landed on her exposed stomach, fingers splaying across her abs. "Damn, she's fit."
"All that swinging around," Sausage said from behind, his breath hot on her ear. "Building muscle."
Gwen jerked again, harder this time, her trapped knees screaming in protest. "Get your hands off—"
Bacon's hand clamped over her mouth, cutting her off. His other hand found her breast, squeezing and kneading her nipples.
"Keep talking," he said. "See what happens."
Ham's fingers traced up her ribs, deliberate and possessive. "She's shaking."
She was. She hated that she was, hated that her body betrayed her fear. Her spider-sense screamed uselessly, danger everywhere and nowhere, no threat she could dodge or counter.
Sausage's belt buckle clinked behind her head. The metallic sound cut through Ham's labored breathing and Bacon's wet chuckle. Fabric rustled, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper.
"What are you—" Gwen started.
"Shut up." Bacon squeezed her breast harder, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
More clinking. Ham's belt this time, the leather whispering as it slid free from loops. His pants hit the concrete with a soft thump, pooling around his ankles.
"Wait, guys," Gwen breathed, her eyes darting between them. "You can't be serious."
"Dead serious," Sausage said from behind. His pants dropped, and she felt him shift closer, his bare legs pressing against her back through what remained of her suit.
Bacon removed his hand from her mouth, but before she could scream, his fingers caught her jaw again, forcing it open. Ham leaned in from the side, his face flushed and sweating.
"Open wide, spider-bitch."
His throat worked. She saw it coming this time, tried to wrench her head away, but Bacon's grip held firm. The spit flew.
It hit her tongue dead center, thicker than Sausage's, carrying the taste of alcohol and something rancid. Her stomach heaved.
"Swallow," Bacon ordered.
She did, purely to clear her mouth so she could breathe. Unfortunately, there would be a next one. Ham was already grinning, working up another.
She saw his shadow shift, his head tilting down toward her upturned face. She jerked left at the last second.
SPLAT
The glob missed her mouth entirely, landing across her forehead with a wet smack. It dripped down, sliding past her eyebrow toward her eye.
"Fuck!" She shook her head violently, trying to fling it off. The spit clung stubbornly, a warm trail running down her temple.
"Look at that," Ham wheezed. "Gave her a facial."
Gwen's vision cleared just in time to see Bacon shoving his pants down completely. Three pale, thick shapes emerged from the shadows—impossibly hard despite the beating she'd given them minutes ago.
Ham's cock stood out first, jutting toward her face. Long. At least eight inches, maybe more, with a slight curve that pointed toward her like an accusation. The shaft was veined, pulsing visibly in the dim light. The head glistened, already leaking.
But the smell. Dammit, the smell.
It hit her worse than the spit, a concentrated wall of musk and dried piss and sweat that made her eyes water. Like he hadn't washed in days, maybe weeks. The stench crawled into her nostrils, thick and cloying.
Bacon's was shorter but thicker, the girth obscene. The kind that would split someone open. It bobbed as he moved closer, the shaft almost purple with blood. More precum leaked from the tip, dripping onto her torn suit.
Behind her, she felt Sausage shift. She couldn't see his, but she could feel it pressing against her back through the shredded fabric—hot and hard and disgusting.
"Time to put that smart mouth to good use," Ham said, gripping his shaft and angling it toward her face.
The head touched her lips, smearing precum across them. The smell alone threatened to send everything in her stomach back up.
"Open up."
"Fuck you," Gwen spat, turning her head away.
Ham's hand tangled in her hair, yanking her face back toward his cock. "Wrong answer."
"I said no!"
Bacon crouched beside her, his thick fingers digging into her jaw again. "You really think you get a choice here?"
Behind her, Sausage moved. His weight shifted, and she heard him drawing up some more saliva in his mouth.
"No, please not again—"
But instead of another wad hitting her on the face or in the mouth. She heard it go somewhere else. Further down.
Sausage's hand dove between her legs, past the torn waistband of her suit. Slick fingers found her entrance, and before she could process what was happening, two thick digits plunged inside.
"NO!"
The sound that left her throat wasn't a scream. It was far worse. A high, involuntary moan that echoed through the alley. Her body betrayed her completely, walls clenching around the intrusion despite every fiber of her being screaming violation.
Sausage's fingers curled, finding that spot inside her, and her hips bucked involuntarily. Another moan tore from her throat, louder this time.
"There it is," he breathed against her ear.
Her mouth opened, gasping.
Ham shoved forward.
GLUGH GLACK
His cock filled her mouth in one brutal thrust, the head hitting the back of her throat immediately. She gagged, her whole body convulsing, but there was nowhere to go. The webbing held her knees. Sausage's fingers held her pussy. Bacon's hand held her jaw.
Ham's hands tangled in her blonde hair, gripping tight. "That's it. Take it. I know you want it."
The taste flooded her senses—salt and musk and that rancid, unwashed filth. Her tongue tried to recoil, but the shaft pinned it down, filling her mouth completely. Drool leaked from the corners of her lips.
Behind her, Sausage's fingers pumped faster, his thumb finding her clit. Her body responded despite her mind's horror, heat building low in her core.
"She's getting wet," Sausage announced.
Ham's hips pistoned forward, his cock hitting the back of Gwen's throat with each thrust. Her eyes watered, mascara running in black streaks down her cheeks. Saliva pooled around the shaft, dripping from her chin in thick strands.
"Look at you," Ham wheezed. "All that talk and you're choking on it."
She tried to pull back, but his grip in her hair tightened, holding her face against his pelvis. The smell intensified, the concentrated stench of unwashed flesh mixing with the salt of precum flooding her mouth.
Behind her, Sausage's fingers withdrew. The sudden emptiness should've been relief. Instead, dread crashed through her as she felt him shifting position.
Then his hands gripped her hips and pushed.
The webbing held her knees, but her upper body had no anchor. She pitched forward, gravity taking over. Her palms slapped concrete, catching herself on all fours with Ham's cock lodging itself deeper in her throat.
"Perfect," Sausage breathed.
She knew where this was going. Gwen twisted her hips desperately, trying to deny him the angle. Her core muscles flexed, abs tightening as she wrenched left, then right. But his thick fingers dug into her hipbones, bruising-tight, locking her in place.
"Stop moving, you'll make it worse."
She felt him position himself. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance, hot and slick with her own unwanted wetness.
"No—" The word came out garbled around Ham's shaft. She didn't want her first time to be like this. To a bunch of criminals! "Mmmph!"
Sausage pushed.
No dinner, no flowers, Sausage took Gwen's most prized possession of all. The head slowly breached her, spreading her open. The stretch burned immediately. It was too thick, too much, her petite body was unprepared despite the arousal he'd forced from her. She tried to clench, to resist, but the angle gave her no leverage.
He pushed deeper.
Her lips stretched around him, tissue tearing microscopically as his girth forced its way inside. The pain bloomed white-hot, radiating from her core through her entire pelvis. Not the sharp agony of a wound but something deeper, more fundamental. The sensation of being split open and ruined.
Of being claimed.
Her hymen gave way with a sensation she felt more than heard. An internal tear that sent a spike of pain through her abdomen. She'd wondered about this moment sometimes, late at night in her dorm. Wondered who it would be with, how it would feel. Maybe another hero, someone like her.
Not like this. Never like this.
Sausage buried himself to the hilt, his pelvis meeting her ass with a meaty slap. She felt every inch of him inside her, stretching her past what her body could accommodate. Her virgin walls clenched involuntarily around the intrusion, and the friction sent another wave of unwanted heat through her core.
"Fuuuck," Sausage groaned. "She's tight. Must be her first, hehe."
Ham's thrusts increased, his cock battering her throat in rhythm with Sausage's first experimental pull. They found a cadence, one pushing in as the other withdrew, using her body like a slinky.
GLACK PLAP GLACK PLAP
Movement in her periphery. Bacon had his cock in hand, stroking slowly, watching. His eyes tracked the tears streaming down her face, the drool coating her chin, the way her body rocked between the two men violating her.
"That's it," he muttered. "Not so funny now, huh?"
It was obscene.
Gwen's body, all her lean muscle and taut skin stretched over a frame built for acrobatics, rippled with each brutal impact. Her ass quivered as Sausage's gut slapped against it, flesh bouncing despite its firmness.
Her breasts swayed beneath her, the modest curves jerking back and forth in time with the thrusts. Perky and high, they moved with an almost hypnotic rhythm, completely at odds with the violation forcing their motion.
Above her, Ham's massive gut hung like a flesh-colored overhang, blocking out the dim light. Rolls of fat jiggled with his exertion, his breathing labored as sweat dripped from his triple chin onto her upturned face. The droplets mixed with her tears, with the spit coating her cheeks.
Behind her, Sausage's enormous belly pressed against her lower back with each thrust, the weight of it threatening to collapse her spine. His thighs—thick as tree trunks and dimpled with cellulite—bracketed her hips. The flesh rippled and shook, a grotesque contrast to the lean muscle of her own legs.
"That's it!" Bacon called out, still stroking himself. "Fuck that tight little body!"
"Show this bitch what happens!" Ham grunted, his cock hitting deeper. "What happens when she runs that mouth!"
Gwen's arms trembled, threatening to give out. Her palms pressed flat against the filthy concrete, supporting her torso as the two men used her from both ends. Her abs flexed involuntarily with each thrust, the defined muscles visible beneath skin slick with sweat.
So small between them. So breakable.
"You know what?" Sausage's voice came out between gasps. "You made fun of me for being fat."
PLAP
"Called me a pig."
PLAP
"Laughed about it."
He leaned forward, his weight pressing down on her back, forcing her face harder onto Ham's cock. His mouth found her ear.
"But we'll see how you like it when you're fat and happy with our brats."
The words hit harder than any punch. Gwen's eyes widened, fresh panic flooding through her. She tried to shake her head, to protest around the cock filling her mouth, but Ham's grip tightened in her hair.
"Oh shit!" Bacon laughed. "You gonna breed her?"
"Fuck yeah I am." Sausage's thrusts turned vicious, pounding into her with renewed purpose. "Gonna fill this tight little cunt up. Put a baby in her."
"Me too," Ham wheezed. "Down her throat first, then we switch. Make sure it takes."
Bacon moved closer, his shadow joining theirs. "My turn after. We'll pass her around all night if we have to."
Gwen's body betrayed her again, walls clenching around Sausage's cock as horror and unwanted arousal mixed into something nauseating. Her fit stomach, those defined abs she'd worked so hard for, would swell. Would stretch and round with their spawn.
But as sick as those thoughts were, her body had something entirely different in mind.
The heat built despite every rational synapse in her brain screaming against it, coiling tighter in her core with each brutal thrust. Sausage's cock dragged against something inside her that sent sparks through her nervous system, unwanted pleasure mixing with pain until she couldn't separate them anymore.
"Mmmph..." The sound escaped around Ham's shaft, higher pitched than before.
Her hips shifted, just slightly, angling to take Sausage deeper. She didn't mean to. Couldn't have meant to. But her body moved on instinct, seeking more of that terrible friction.
"Wait," Bacon said, leaning closer. "Is she—"
Another whimper, louder. Her walls clenched rhythmically now, building toward something inevitable. The shame of it burned hotter than the violation, but she couldn't stop. The sensation of her lips—both of them—getting dragged out along with her rapist's cocks was too much for her to handle.
Ham's eyes widened. "No fucking way."
"She is!" Sausage laughed, breathless. "Spider-bitch is getting off on this!"
Gwen tried to shake her head, to deny it, but her back arched involuntarily. Her body betrayed every protest, hips rocking back to meet Sausage's thrusts.
"Listen to her." Bacon grinned. "She's moaning."
"Mmm... nnngh..."
She couldn't help it. The sounds kept coming, muffled by the cock in her throat but unmistakable. Her thighs trembled, that coil winding tighter and tighter.
"All that attitude," Ham wheezed, "and you're just a slut who needed a good fuck."
"Three good fucks," Sausage corrected, slamming harder. "From the three little pigs."
The humiliation should've killed her arousal. Should've. Instead it pushed her closer, the degradation mixing with the physical sensation until her vision blurred.
So close. She was so close.
"She gonna cum?" Bacon asked.
"Yup, feel her squeezing," Sausage groaned. "Tight little cunt's trying to milk me."
"Do it," Ham ordered, yanking her hair. "Cum on his fat cock, spider-bitch."
The degradation was too much. Her body obeyed.
The orgasm ripped through her without permission, muscles seizing as waves of unwanted pleasure crashed over her. She moaned around Ham's shaft, the sound obscene and broken, her walls clenching rhythmically around Sausage.
"Shit baby, that's all I needed," Sausage grunted.
Gwen's orgasm sent him over the edge and his rhythm broke, thrusts turning erratic. With one final slam, he buried himself to the base, his balls slapping against her clit and his pelvis crushing against her ass as his cock pulsed inside her.
The first spurt hit deep, painting her cervix with heat. And courtesy of her elevated spidey-senses, Gwen had the privilege of feeling it all. The moment his cum flooded into her womb, the sensation foreign and violating in a way that made her freshly-sensitized nerves scream. More followed, pulse after pulse of viscous fluid pumping into her ruined channel.
Gwen was forced to feel every second. Every degrading second. Sausage ground against her, making sure every drop found its mark. His cock twitched inside her, smaller aftershocks adding to the flood. She could feel it beginning to pool in her deepest places, thick and alive and wrong. Staining her from the inside out.
His balls clenched with each pulse, her body accepting what it couldn't reject. The sensation was wrong and yet so natural. She hated herself. Being marked in a way soap and water would never fully wash away.
Ham wasn't too far behind. The cock in Gwen's mouth swelled, her jaw aching around the increased girth. His grip in her hair went painful.
"Take it—fuck, take it all—"
He erupted.
The first blast hit the back of her throat with enough force to make her gag. Ham whipped his head back, letting out a sustained, guttural groan—that same sound men made at urinals when they'd been holding it too long. Pure animalistic relief.
"HNNNGH AHHHHHH…"
Another rope flooded her mouth, coating her tongue, her teeth, the roof of her mouth. The taste overwhelmed everything, that salt and bitter musk mixed with lingering filth. She tried to pull back but his hands held her face against his pelvis.
"Nuh-uh, swallow," he wheezed.
She did. She had to. The alternative was drowning. The cum slid down her throat in a thick mass, leaving behind a trail of shame that settled in her stomach alongside Sausage's spit from earlier.
And yet, Ham kept cumming. Each pulse accompanied by another grunt, another clench of his balls against her chin, his shaft throbbing against her tongue as it emptied what felt like days worth of backed-up seed down her throat.
"That's right, drink it up blondie."
Eventually, after what seemed like a straight minute of ejaculating, the men finally, finally, finished.
They withdrew simultaneously.
Ham's cock slipped free with a wet pop. Sausage pulled out a moment later, his shaft dragging through her abused channel with wet squelch before leaving her empty.
Gwen collapsed.
Her arms gave out first, elbows buckling, sending her face-first into the concrete. The impact jolted through her cheekbone, her nose mashing against filth-stained pavement. She lay there, chest heaving, unable to move. Didn't want to move.
Cum leaked from both ends. She felt Sausage's load beginning its slow, inevitable slide out of her, trickling down her inner thigh in a warm, viscous trail. More dripped from her lips onto the ground, mixing with the drool and tears already pooling beneath her face.
The webbing still held her knees. Still kept her ass elevated despite her torso's collapse, leaving her displayed. Ruined.
But then—sirens.
Distant but approaching, that distinctive wail cutting through the post-violation haze.
"Shit!" Ham's voice cracked. "Little bitch was right!"
"Fuck, fuck—" Sausage was already moving, his weight shifting off her back.
"Wait!" Bacon grabbed her hair, yanking her head up from the concrete. "I didn't get mine yet!"
"Are you insane? I'm not going back to prison, the food sucks!" Ham wheezed, struggling with his pants.
"Come on! Thirty seconds!" Bacon hauled Gwen upright by her hair, forcing her into a kneeling position despite the webbing. Her neck muscles screamed as he angled her face toward him.
His cock was purple, engorged past the point of pain. He stroked it with his free hand, the motion frantic. His other hand kept her head locked in place, tilted up, eyes forced open by sheer physical positioning.
"Open your mouth."
Gwen's jaw dropped open.
Not from defiance or some clever plan forming in her exhausted brain. Just... compliance. The fight had drained out of her completely, leaving behind only the hollow understanding that resistance would just prolong this.
"Look at that," Sausage wheezed, still struggling with his belt. "Spider-bitch finally learned her lesson."
SPLURRRT
The first rope hit her forehead, hot and thick. The second caught her across the bridge of her nose. The third painted her cheek, dripping down toward her jaw. He aimed lower, coating her lips, her chin, and eventually pooling in the hollow of her throat.
"There," Bacon panted. "Now you look the part."
"Yeah! That's for calling us fat," Ham said.
"Have fun with my brat!" Sausage added, giving her a double middle finger.
Then just like that, they ran.
All three of them, guts jiggling with each lumbering step as they hauled up their pants. Sausage's belt clinked uselessly, still undone. Bacon's shirt rode up, exposing his pale gut. Ham wheezed like an asthmatic, already falling behind.
They disappeared around the corner just as the sirens peaked.
Red and blue lights washed over the alley.
Gwen knelt there, still locked in place by her own webbing. Cum cooling on her face, in her hair, leaking from between her legs. Her suit torn to shreds, exposing everything. No mask to hide behind.
How would she explain this? What would they say?
She could practically see it already.
Kumbaya69: Maybe she should've asked nicely first?
xX_TruthSeeker_Xx: This is what happens when women try to do men's work.
MAGAmaniac: Should've used those feminine qualities she was showing off.
Gwen laughed. Actually laughed. The sound came out broken and wrong, but she couldn't stop it.
All because she wanted to do test her new formula.
Turns out it worked a little… too well.
Mission accomplished I guess.
