Surveying the CEO of Stark International
This is Ms. Potts's chambers. The cloth is fluffy, and the wood is shiny. She's got more space than she needs. And Peter's sure that her father thought so too when she was more Morgan's age.
As the husband is bent, so grows the widow. And as both one and a corporate CEO, Peter knows, better than any man or lesbian he can think of, that she has.
Around her neck, she still wears a necklace made of shrapnel. This shrapnel was once lodged hopelessly in Tony Stark's chest; so much so that not even the talented Dr. Yinsen from Gulmira could dissect it all.
Peter has crawled all over certain pieces of this shrapnel by now. And he's gotten more than a decent view of everything that's just beneath it. And by accident, he's cut himself on the sharper parts of this shrapnel. Whoever attacked Mr. Stark with this all that time ago sure knew what they were doing...
Her bathroom is kept clean. If Peter looks at any spot of it at the wrong time, it hurts his eyes.
Peter watches Ms. Potts bathe. She's like a water buffalo...if water buffalo cows were white with blonde hair. The soap she uses fluffs her bathwater up like a great fragile pillow. Peter hardens each time her nude parts break the surface.
She showers. Through Stark's steam-proof glass, Peter can see all of her as it gets wet and soapy. He beholds her ass, her legs, and her bare back. When she turns the other way to let it run over her back and hair, he beholds her chest, her navel, and her feet...
Mr. Stark had no idea how lucky he was. No doubt, his spirit still doesn't...
Her lace panties sit on the bed, like dual hoops. She inadvertently rocks Peter softly, as she pulls them onto her lower end, oblivious to a mite-sized boy dreaming away in its threads.
Ms. Potts creates beautiful quakes in her sleep; both by breathing, and by rolling around on the double bed...the one she once shared with Mr. Stark.
Her bare back is a soft great plain. She doesn't feel Peter as the latter explores it multiple times in the dark, and under her bed's covers.
Her ass cheeks are even softer mountains. Peter mountaineers them many times as she sleeps.
Her thighs are harder...but otherwise very nourishing to a boy in rut. Peter doesn't climb them-he's already on top-but he does spend countless hours peering down into the great abyss of her elegant thigh gap as its owner slumbers.
On the floor, Ms. Potts does her exercises. She lifts her legs. She curls her belly. She spreads her legs. She raises her arms. She moves her head around on her shoulders.
Peter watches all of this. He wonders why Ms. Potts doesn't put on the Rescue suit more often...
Not that Peter's complaining. He'd rather see Ms. Potts's cleavage, and quite frankly, the Rescue suit doesn't reveal enough.
The Ironheart suit doesn't reveal much of Riri Williams either, come to think of it... And neither does the Iron Man suit of Nemirovsky...
She paints her nails. Peter beholds, as she maintains perfect balance while doing so. She breathes steadily, and keeps a calm composure. It takes her eons to paint all ten toes and all ten fingers.
One of her nails would be like a ball field to Peter, if he perched on one. And he doesn't mind if he does...as soon as they're dry.
She paints her lips. They're big; they must've suffocated Mr. Stark once upon a marriage.
She grabs her purse on the way out the door. To Peter, it's like a merchant ship hanging from a beautiful CEO's shoulder. Its leather was imported from some of the toughest creatures in the bare-skinned world. From the Persian deserts, Peter's sure, where her husband once fought jihad, while the greater U.S. Army protected Texas from Mexico's most desperate legions in the late 1840s...
Polk was president at the time. Fuck, did Mr. Stark and Polk have some great times at the White House, while Ms. Potts was left alone at home for days on end...
At least she wasn't pregnant with Morgan at the time. Not that Peter isn't glad she was born, understand...
Damn, Morgan's mom has got it going on. She's all Peter wants, and he's waited for SO long...
Ms. Potts wears pumps en route to her job. On the pavement, they clop like a trotting Clydesdale. Or at least, that's what they sound like to passers-by. To Peter, perched on the straps of her purse, they sound more like Ragnarok's thunder.
Ms. Potts is back in her office. So is Peter. She can see the whole building from where she works. Every now and then, she can see Nemirovsky as she test-flies the latest perfection in Iron Man exosuits...
She has to work on her hero name, of course. She can't be Iron Man, after all, if she's not a man.
Ms. Potts hangs her coat, revealing her shirt and tie beneath. She loosens her tie, and unbuttons several of the top buttons. She sighs, and sits. Beneath the chair, she slips her feet out of her pumps.
Peter rides on the pen as Ms. Potts writes with it. It's a dizzying ride; but as Spider-Man, Peter's ridden on steel beams as cranes moved them over New York's highest spots. Her hand is like a benevolent five-limbed sweet-smelling giantess, inadvertently trying to shake him off the pen. But Peter's Spider-Man; the Rhino couldn't hinder him, and neither will the giantess Ms. Potts.
Ms. Potts is the CEO of a major company. And Peter is just a cheap nerd from the hood...
Ms. Potts types on the typewriter. Peter rides her knuckles as her giant fingers strike the keys. Her hands smell great. And he's got a great view of her rack from where he perches...
He's perched on her left ring knuckle. He's literally perched right on the pale white circle at the base of her finger...where Mr. Stark's wedding ring once rested. Ms. Potts is SO sexually available; Peter just knows it... And the fact that Potts went back to using her maiden name after her husband's death can only ever over-imply the probability...
Ms. Potts cuts open envelopes with a knife. Peter rides on her thumb nail as she does. He's right; her nail is as big as a ball field. And Peter is SO playing left field in this game...
Ms. Potts looks cute when she's opening envelopes. Mr. Stark never told him... But then, Mr. Stark wasn't likely ever there for half of it. He made sure of that, of course, when he gave the reins of his company to his better half on a silver platter.
A lot of women and pooftahs thought he was crazy at the time. And yet, one would've expected Ms. Potts to get more praise for encouraging women's suffrage...
Peter's hard. And Ms. Potts's clothes aren't even very revealing...
Back from work, Ms. Potts's pumps make more noise going back home than they did going to work. Peter perches on the toe of the left one. It's a dizzying ride; dangerous, sometimes. But this ride is what makes Peter the hardest; and he'll maintain the position until Ms. Potts is home.
She gets home. She rides an express elevator up to her chambers. Once up there, she sheds her shoes on the landing. Peter swings to a place where he can watch Ms. Potts strip.
She's shed her coat. Peter gawks as she sheds her work clothes, revealing her loose and revealing lingerie beneath.
She asks FRIDAY how her daughter's doing, who gives her a progress report, and a 20. Ms. Potts sighs restfully, loosens her bra, and peels it off of her.
FRIDAY opens the windows, and Ms. Potts takes a nap...while topless. She lies very still...
Peter swings and crawls over to her feet, and perches on the nail of her big toe. To him, it's as big as a ball field. He's hard for her. KAREN loosens his suit for him, so his body can vent.
Way over there, Ms. Potts's chest rises and falls as she snoozes. The atmosphere coming through the windows puts her at ease.
She's topless. Peter swings and crawls along her bare leg. And it is a VERY elegant leg. To him, it's more like a raised land-bridge; the isthmus that the Stone Age humans WISH they had to cross into North America, instead of Beringia...
Peter stops to stare down into her navel. To him, it's like a crater...
Her boobs are bare mountains, ready to climb. For Peter, it'll be a breeze. He gets to work climbing her left boob-the one that's closest to her heart. He's like a mite; she doesn't feel him.
He's got a spectacular view of her quarters. And for some weird reason, he'd rather have THIS view, than one from the ceiling...
In moments like these, Peter would LOVE to cheat on Morgan with her mom. Yes indeed, as a sexually available widow, and the lonely CEO of a major company, Ms. Potts is quite the MILF...
Peter wakes. He's still in the forest, where he humiliated Elektra and Dr. Octopussy in front of one of their husbands and a bunch of band camp sheriffs. He's hiding in a tree hole. He's lucky a woodpecker hasn't come along and eat him by now.
He remembers his purpose. He must find the other ex-husbands, so he can protect them. And he's got no idea how to start looking. And he's got no way of asking Ms. Hill if she knows anything else.
But for now, his aunt probably takes priority. If he can find where she's being protected, he can still be the neighborhood's friendly Spider-Man...seeing as a neighborhood is probably as big as the town where she's being hidden in ever gets.
Far away, the lobos and coyotes howl. Spider-Man shoots a web, and moves on, relying on KAREN to guide him to a likely place where his aunt is being quartered by SHIELD.