History 300Chapter 4: Empires Rise free porn video

"You can't not go, Lizzie!" Sally grabbed her friend and pulled her into an alcove between lockers. Her snarl sent another freshman hurrying down to the next water fountain. "It's the party. There won't be anything this big for months. This is our last chance to show the school where we intend to stand in the food chain for senior year!"

"That's just it Sal," Liz sighed, "I don't care where I stand. It's not like you're going to stop being my friend and none of the boys left without dates are worth my time."

"That's just from the school." Sal rolled her eyes, "You could easily get an ESU guy or someone else and--"

"I'm not going trolling for college guys, Sal," Liz wrote that plan off. "Besides, you remember what happened at the formal. Petey and MJ showed up together and pushed us all to the back. They're going to be going again and I don't want to or need to deal with that drama."

"I never thought I'd see Liz drop out of the game because she was scared," Sally rolled back onto the heels of her white sneakers.

"I'm not scared," Liz sighed, "Just tired of this whole thing."

"Look, at least don't prevent me from setting you up with a date? Please?" Sally's bright blue eyes had a hard to resist quality when not paired with her shrill voice. Liz's shoulder slumped.

"Fine," Liz agreed, "You find someone you think I'll like," She underscored the word several times, "and I'm willing to give him a chance. But I don't want to just show up at Hydra with whoever you think will make me the best arm candy."

"I promise!" Sally bounced and wrapped Liz up in a warm and tight embrace. At this moment, Harry and Peter were walking by. Peter immediately flushed red and looked guilty as he glimpsed the stony stare from Liz. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I have no idea what you did Pete," Harry declared as they continued towards English class, "But if you can get her back with a flowers and chocolates I'll cover the first thousand dollars of it."

"What?" Peter shook out of his guilty reverie. Images of of white skin and silver hair turned his red blood white hot. The small part of him, the intelligent and logical part, knew that Liz couldn't know what had happened. The majority of him feared that she was just waiting to close the noose around her neck. He had already hurt her so much.

"Liz, you twit," Harry pushed, "She's good for you. Put up with all your flakiness and then, I can only surmise, you went and did something you were too stupid to apologize and make up for."

"I don't think an apology's going to cut it," Peter admitted. He was in love with Gwen. He had promised her, he had dumped Liz for her, though only four people knew that and Peter was unaware of Harry's intelligence. Now Peter believed Gwen was helping Harry heal from his addictions, his father's death. He couldn't begrudge his best friend that. Even if every now and then he imagined the face on the other side of Spider-man's fist was Harry's.

"Yeah, that's why we break out the flowers and chocolates. I'm talking a bouquet big enough to put whatever flowers she likes on the endangered species list. Also you're going to have to deal with a King Kong sized girlfriend when this is all said and done."

"That's not such a problem," The ubiquitous defensive tackle announced overhearing the tail end of Harry and Peter's conversation. "You'll never have more to love."

Kenny pushed passed the two friends and into their class. Harry stopped, "Ok, fewer chocolates."

"Agreed," Peter nodded looking down the hall to the chemistry classroom and wondering how much acetone he'd need to pour into his ears to clean that mental image from memory.

"Awesome," Harry moved to punch Peter in the shoulder. His eyes went wide when he found his wrist caught in Peter's grip. "Holy crap, buddy! Those are some reflexes."

"Yeah, sorry, just a little off today," Peter let go sheepishly.

"Nothing new," Harry shrugged off the uncharacteristic reflexes. "But seriously, come by tonight we'll work out the logistics for putting you back together."

"Wait what?" Peter said to Harry's back. What the hell had he agreed to now?

Betty Brant, 20 year old personal assistant to J Jonah Jameson, sat on the bus with earbuds in. She had never been an introvert. She had sought journalism as a career because she wanted to explore the universe. She loved science, politics, crime and economics. She was a bright enthusiastic insightful young woman with a huge dynamic engaging world to explore. However on this morning it was cathartic to exist only as far as her own skin.

The trip from Ned's apartment to work was about thirty minutes longer than from her own home. She had to wake up earlier, have extra clothes prepared so she didn't walk into a bullpen full of keen-eyed reporters in yesterday's blouse and all the while keep her mind at a sharper level than. She really needed to set up a corner of his closet and a spot in his bathroom. It was exhausting finding a moment between them, let alone getting her shit together in spite of the urge to rush in and take advantage of the little time they could find. A couple of months ago she would have been happy to have the smell of his shampoo in her hair all day. She made a note to hit her favorite boutique the next time she headed over. She knew that would be as soon as possible.

At least Ned was worth it.

Her night had been unexpected. Investigative journalism was not a 9 to 5 job. Ned kept obsessive hours. Betty had accepted that she was going to spend the night at home, the only reason she hadn't yet stripped down into her panties and Eli Manning jersey while flicking through her Netflix menu was her sweet tooth. The bakery in Hell's Kitchen served the best glazed cinnamon rolls she knew of. She was waiting in line when her phone had started buzzing.

"Hey, beautiful," Ned was bright and cheerful. Something good must have happened.

"Hey handsome," Betty replied. The unexpected bringing a smile to her lips.

"Come over tonight."

"We celebrating something?" Betty followed the lilt in his voice.

"Being young and beautiful in New York City," he cheered. "You're not at your place."

"I'm getting something from the bakery," She replied.

"Cinnamon bun for me too and I'll meet you outside."

There had never been a question to her. She was being instructed, told. Out of rebelliousness and confidence, part of her wanted to play hard to get. More of her wanted to be gotten. "Sounds good, Ned."

"Morning Betty," The hot dog vendor outside the Bugle interrupted her train of thought. He was still setting up his street meat stand for the day. She gave him a smile and a wave. She pushed through the main doors of the building.

Betty leaned in, dodging the kiss and using the tip of her tongue to steal a bit of icing from the edge of Ned's lips. "Not good enough Betty."

"What?" She had almost had time to mutter. Ned had scooped her thighs up in either hand. She yelped as her lower body swung out below her and she fell back onto the flower print cushions of his thrift shop sofa.

He settled in on his knees. The denim of their jeans preventing immediate penetration. Betty suddenly hated her jeans, even despite them making her ass look fantastic.

"Now this," Ned announced after a sweet enduring kiss, "is good."

Betty didn't disagree as she retreated back onto her elbows. She raised her lips to his. She felt the static energy between them. She wondered, for only as long as it had taken for Ned's hand to settle against her neck, what hadn't been good?

Xerox lights rolled back in forth like a metronome. Papers rustled together with wave like swishing. The tick on the overhead clock let the fog persist. Betty was smiling sloppily.

She shrieked for the umpteenth time. Her feet twisting, curling, kicking in the air. Her fingers threshed bedclothes. His tongue was divine. Ned was a details man. He came to her like a starving man to dinner. His nose pressed apart her brown hair and burrowed against the focus of her pleasure.

B! She gurgled, uncertain in her want as she felt the agility of his tongue. Lips parted and shuddered. What she screamed weren't words. His hands lifted her by the cheeks. She only touched the bed with her forearms and hair. Spread, volatile, strangled in the shirt she had no opportunity to divest.

E! His tongue looped against her. The trickle of desire spiking in a short torrent over Ned's face. The pinky finger threatened her untouched ass. No, yes, please, help, if she couldn't discern her own pleas how could he?

T! His tongue split her. Crossing out over the red swelling that made her arm drop. Ned was relentless. His knees creaked the bed springs. He followed her, folded her. She rolled up on her shoulders. Her legs spastic. His grip had changed. The hem of her shirt falling down to her brassiere. A hand against her abdomen. The tip of his thumb worried against her navel. He held her tailbone. The tip of his thumb separated her ass, worrying her anus. She wondered if her eyes would ever close again.

T! He repeated the flicker against her sex. This time she couldn't scream. All the weight of her body seemed to squeezed her lungs tight. Panting, spittle flying, Betty cried. The tears forming in her eyes a result of sensory overload. She rocked her head, her neck flaccid, mimicking the motion of Ned against her pussy.

Y! Dear God! The prayer a remnant of her childhood a thing abandoned. As her control left her, as the second flush of desire spat from her flesh, as she felt the spatter over her breasts and lips she clung to whatever was still left in her.

"Oops, sorry Betty," Robbie excused himself as he rounded a corner and almost mowed her down. She wavered but kept her burden from scattering over the floor. She smiled forgiveness too far from consciousness for smalltalk. Robbie gave her the hallway and she passed by him and stepped out of the world.

Cum glistened on her lips like gloss. She looked up and saw that Ned approved of her cocky smile. Betty shook out her sweaty hair. She held the tips of her reddened breasts. The abuse he had leveled against her body still tingled. He grabbed her chin and pulled her up to his feet. She leaned in to kiss him. He held her steady inches away from the kiss.

"Lick up that mess and swallow," He commanded. Betty obeyed, slowly rolling her tongue along the pale pink of her lips. She bent her neck back so he could see the proof of her compliance. She wasn't just a little puppet with strings for Ned to pull. Her fingers coddled the spit slick cock she had recently adored. Ned shuddered, sensitive from the end of their lovemaking.

"Naughty girl," Ned praised, scooping up her brown hair as he pulled her into a passionate kiss. "I can't believe you need more."

"Am I too much for you?" Betty encircled her fingers tight on his cock. Ned was beginning to stir. She had a bright smile plastered on her lips.

"I'm going to fuck you," Ned threatened.

"Promises..." Betty rolled her eyes. "You're done."

Her hands dropped from the waking cock and she turned. He grabbed her hips as she turned. She yelped as she was lifted up and slammed into the mattress. She had never been taken from behind before. There was an exciting anonymity of not seeing the sharp look in Ned's eyes when he drove inside her. She felt dehumanized, having her face pressed into the pillows. There was eroticism in surrender. Something she had been told but had failed to comprehend. She felt Ned's hands first. He grabbed her by the upper arm and the inside of her right thigh. He held her down and yanked her ass upwards.

"Ned," she pleaded. She had instigated this and she was excited to play it out. Her heart thrummed like a hummingbird. His cock rushed against her pussy. She had already cum three times tonight; she ached at his touch. Her next words were muffled by the pillow case.

If he had come at her as fierce as he had thrown her she may have screamed. He instead took a measured control. Each action was patient, relentless, maddening. Slowly, he entered her forcing her to exhale. Betty tried to buck back onto Ned. She contracted around baiting him to take her. She lifted herself up. His hand left her arm and gripped her by the hair.

"You've asked for this, Betty," Ned declared. He pulled his cock out of her.

"Ned," Betty whimpered. She looked back over her shoulder. His hand brushed back the hair over ear. She couldn't see his eyes, blocked as they were by his forearm. Maybe, she wouldn't have been as scared if she could see more than his determined jaw. "Ned?"

"I'm here," he answered. His hand tightened in her hair and directed her eyes forward. He held the cheek of her ass. A strong pull of the meat opened her up. She had never felt so raw. She had never felt so debased.

"Ah," she flinched as his cock touched her asshole.

"Miss Brant!" J Jonah was not a boss a smart employee allowed to repeat himself.

"Yes?" She had dealt with the man long enough to avoid his wrath. Today she wasn't at her best. "I asked for those blanks 3.7 hours ago!" He barked, hands slapping down upon her desktop.

"It was 20 minutes ago, Mr Jameson," she resurrected the calm competence required to work at the Bugle, "And I was just getting out of my seat to discover the hold up when you marched up to my desk."

"I don't need your facts and backtalk! Go! Go! Go!" He rose and turned towards his next explosion. Betty sighed and climbed to her feet. Robbie appeared at her shoulder.

"Is everything OK, Betty?" He asked with concern.

"I'm fine, why do you ask?" She shook out the cobwebs with a lazy smile.

"Because it had only been 10 minutes since he had asked for the blanks." Robbie cocked an eyebrow.

"Its nothing, Mr Robertson," Betty admitted her uneven keel, "Just something I need to fix after work."

"Well if you need a hand or a shoulder," Robbie let the offer speak for itself. He nodded to her when she begged off with a thank you.

What was becoming of her? Scatterbrained little trollop who couldn't even keep her mind off sex. It had been good. Different. Exciting. Terrifying. Her skin tingled as she let her smile broaden.

She was in pain. Full in a way she hadn't expected. Ned sawed in and out of her. The slickness from her pussy little comfort inside her ass. Ned loved what he felt. He told her. Told her she made him feel more than anyone else had ever could. That was her analgesic. She felt narcotically beautiful.

"Ah, it's so far inside me," She moaned, she was reaching back to her sex. She amplified the feeling he instilled. Her ankle twitched. She bit inside her cheek. She impelled her self onto Ned's cock. She refused to be used, insistent that she pleasured Ned and not that he simply pleasured himself inside of her.

He was grunting, having gripped her by both hips as he reddened her ass with his hips. He kept telling her she was amazing, a mantra punctuated with the slap of flesh. Her breath hitched and stuttered. His breath quickened and heated.

Betty's hand curled, her finger nails abusing her sex. She ground her clit with furious insistence. She could feel Ned spasming inside her. It was a stimulation that she hadn't experienced. Her sex she loved and understood. That feeling of impending pleasure, of release inside her, made her burn with her own pleasure. Inside her ass Ned's rising need accompanied Betty's fear. She rubbed and fingered hoping she could concentrate on her own orgasm. She wanted to overcome Ned's.

She rocked on her shoulders and knees. She bit into the flesh of her left palm. Her shriek was poorly muffled. Ned growled. He pulled Betty tight against his hips and unleashed himself inside her.

"Fuck!" Betty garbled as she bit her hand more tightly. Her fingers scissored against her poor sensitized flesh. Her sex spasmed. She would have collapse on the bed had Ned let her. She shook, her ass rotating around the last moments of Ned's orgasm.

Slowly, as he exited Betty, Ned pulled the two of them down onto the bed. Betty rolled with him as he cuddled against her back. She reveled in the arms that tightened around her.

She was slow to sleep. Even as Ned's breath slowed and fell measured, Betty's mind wandered. Ned had been uncommunicative about much more than fucking her. She hadn't minded, though her body was sore in ways she hadn't felt before. The sex had been immersive. She began to think Ned had been escaping something. Worrying and aches gave way to exhaustion. Finally, her eyes slipped shut.

She woke to the chirp of her cell phone. The other side of the bed was cold. Ned, nowhere again. She had stopped assuming the worst. Ned worked on little sleep and the worst diet she had ever witnessed. He seemed to find fuel in his obsessions. His desk was littered with police reports and photographs. Pictures were pushpinned into a bulletin board over his dresser. It was disconcerting waking to the face of the Goblin.

She lifted up a notebook that had a picture of Jack O'Lantern stapled to it. A short flip through the increasingly impatient notes began to shed some light on Ned's need and frustration.

"Where is Lee?" Jameson roared.

"That's what I would like to know," Betty broke from her daydream again.

"Somebody find him or I'll sack him like Parker!"

"Your magnetic flight technology is incredible," Phineas Mason announced as he rolled out from under the black and red chassis. The weapon he was building was the size of a panel van. It's oblong body was a mess of empty recesses for the weapons and widgets scattered all across the floor. Mason was laying back on a rolling back so that he could weld Adrian's contributions to its bottom.

Vulture was sitting at a drafting desk, a chain scale next to him weighed a rocket propelled grenade as he calculated how much ordnance their project could carry. "Thank you, Mason." Toomes looked up with a smile appropriate for a child's nightmare. "Osborn's Tech-Flight is a mockery of what this technology can really do."

"I agree," Phineas lied. He had seen video of the Goblin's glider in action and he was already considering the benefits of rocket propelled thrusters adjunct to the magnetic flight.

"How are the Tri-Corp chips working?" Vulture turned back to his calculator.

"Simulations are promising. If they're 80% accurate I'd say we're likely to clean the city of its spider problem."

"80%? That would be unacceptable. We'll need to do better than that. I thought Beck's test had been a success?" Vulture stood up and crossed the room. His eyes turned to the eleven Mysterio bots who had been conscripted into welding, riveting, wiring, assembling and shaping the components of the project.

"They're working extremely well," Beck said himself. He was dressed in old sweats as he spray painted the armor plates black and red. "Infinitely better than Phineas's first bots."

"Your gratitude is remarkable." Mason deadpanned.

"Beck will give credit where it is due," Vulture announced but didn't press the issue. "How long now?"

"Have you readied the arsenal?" Mason asked, pulling his welding mask back over his face.

"I have," Toomes picked a small legal pad from his desk and tossed it down onto Mason's chest. The Tinkerer looked over the list, his thoughtful face hidden behind the protective plate. "We can be ready for action tonight."

"Excellent." Vulture rolled his shoulders back. "Tonight the Spider-man faces his Slayer."

"You're not usually this distracted, Tiger," Mary Jane Watson picked the seat next to Peter in the cafeteria. Peter had a copy of The Daily Bugle half torn apart in his hands. His fries and burger were swiftly growing cold. The New York Educational System quality fryer oil was congealing on the mass of junk food.

"I'm not usually this confused." Peter admitted. Everything was pulling at him. At the moment certain distractions were worse. Across the Cafeteria was the cool table. Liz was looking warm and happy. She conspired with Sally, lambasted Kenny and got under Glory's skin. He had promised Liz Saturday so she could get a big head start on her Biology final. She would have had him everyday after school all week but his job at ESU had allowed him to beg off. He was scared. He wasn't a hundred percent what technically he and Cat were but one thing was certain, his moment of weakness had him cheating on Liz. He honestly wanted to tell her, be a man, let her get angry and hurt again so she could finally cut the the cancer that was Peter Parker out of her life and start healing. He just couldn't though. Who would he say he had cheated with? He would have to admit he was Spider-man. He couldn't do that. He could hardly bear the looks Liz forced on him in public and in private. The hate, the hurt, the need, the love. It was all there, all the time and Peter was certain he only deserved the dark side of things.

"Wait, this is worse than normal Parker brain displacement?" MJ whistled impressed. "What happened?"

"Not here," Peter grumbled, throwing the paper over his lunch. The cover story was face down so he didn't have to look into that picture again. "Walk with me?"

"Yeah, I can do that," MJ agreed. Her lunch was a fortified yogurt and celery. Part of her was intent on throwing the paper aside and eating Peter's soiled mass. She managed a mild amount of self control. Enough to run into Harry and Gwen holding hands as they entered the cafeteria. Harry squeezed more tightly before Gwen could pull away. Peter just gave the pair a blank smile and walked around them for the door.

"Tonight Peter. Don't be late." Harry reminded. Gwen looked askance. MJ squeezed the blonde's shoulder as she walked past after Peter.

Lunchtime at M3 was cluttered. The cafeteria couldn't quite handle the massive population of the school. As it was, most of the first floor classrooms were opened to keep the corridor milling under control. Peter and MJ started upstairs away from the roving crowds of teenagers. Peter didn't talk until they got to the top floor and found a bench with no one else in sight. Peter trusted his spider-sense to shut him up if it came to it.

"Alright Peter, I get enough mandated exercise with Desiree. I don't need to be climbing that many stairs." MJ pushed hoping to kickstart her friend.

"It is easier to show you," The fact was Peter couldn't tell Mary Jane everything. The twisted up knots that Liz with him were his own personal albatross. He reached into his backpack for his camera. He passed the silver device to MJ. She turned it on.

"Just review Tuesday's pictures." Peter told her. Two days ago. Peter versus Hammerhead. MJ flipped back to the designated date. Flames, muzzle flares mixed with chemical geysers, cast a hellish frame around Spider-man and Jack O'Lantern. MJ nearly dropped the camera. Something in the chaos struck home. She had known Peter risked his life as Spider-man. She had known what he did was dangerous and arguably suicidal. Until now, he had been a rock star. Superhero meant infamy and celebration. The camera showed such a dark side that she went a sickly shade of white.

"That's not what I meant," Peter said looking over her shoulder when she had stopped on the picture. His nonchalance is was what killed her. "I was weak. I was angry and I did what I shouldn't again." Reaching around the redhead, Peter scrolled forward. He didn't see the ever expanding white of her eyes as he flipped through the battle and into the relative peace of a New York night. The white and black blur was nothing through MJ's fearful tears. She sniffed closed, her eyes and wiped some of her mascara off onto the back of her hand. She looked down to Spider-man and Black Cat, half undressed and just at the edge of the camera's view. She felt icy fear steam away under enigmatic anger. Her voice was barely loud enough to hear: "This is what's got you tied up? You have no one to brag that your bagging some supervillain whore!"

MJ pushed away, dropping Peter's camera to the floor. The hero just managed to dive and catch it. He saw his friend jet off to the stairwell. He felt no better than he had before this had happened. He felt a hundred times more confused.

Liz Allan was on the third floor when a wrecked MJ rushed off to that floor's bathroom. The model had not seen the cheerleader. Liz cracked a smug smile and looked up, believing she could see through the floor to where Peter was gumming like a landed fish. He was easy, MJ had wanted more but Liz was deep enough that Peter had finally thrown her off. She had skip in her step when she headed back down before Peter could see her.

"Nurse!" The inmate shouted to Debra Whitman from his gurney. The black sophomore rolled her eyes and put down the cover of the laptop. This collaboration with Ravencroft Hospital was beginning to try her patience. Debra turned, not bothering to affect even the most polite smile.

"Mr Kasady," She said in slow tones, "I need to say again. I am not a nurse. I am not here to take care of you. I am not here to take your requests."

"Nurse, can you get me some water?" The redheaded man asked anyways.

"No," Debra declared. "Talk to Dr Kafka when she comes out of the office."

"Nurse!" Debra ignored the man. She felt like she was dealing with children. She wished three thirty would come soon. Then the patients would be out of the laboratory and then all she would have to irritate her was a goofy, friendly boy that was more intelligent that she was. She looked forward to Gwen.

"Yes," The door to the office opened and Dr Warren held the door for Dr Kafka. "I am aware of your misgivings, however the law and the hospital are still behind me. Your constant demands and reiterations are growing tiresome Doctor."

"Well perhaps I'm just expecting you to finally recognize the words I'm using!" She huffed. She turned to see Cletus looking at her and she sighed.

"I agreed to your coming here in the hopes that it would aid my work," Dr Warren told her. "It was a courtesy I have not been required to extend."

"I am aware," The icy turn in Dr Kafka's voice reached deep into Debra's psyche. She was not a woman the assistant would want to cross. "Fine, I'll keep my reservations for my reports."

"That would be appreciated," Dr Warren conceded. Aware that the only people reading Dr Kafka's reports would be college students researching a paper. Provided any success on his behalf, the only reports to be read would be his own. "Ms Whitman, how are the patients?"

"Mr Kasady is seeking attention," Debra pushed her glasses up on her nose.

"That's kind of what got him into trouble in the first place," The second patient spoke up with a smile. Debra felt the corner of her mouth twitch but she kept her professional frown.

"And Mr Brock has been patient."

"The patient patient, that's me," Eddie said this time breaking through Debra's icy demeanour for nearly an entire heartbeat. He was belted to his gurney as was Kasady, however he was just fettered at the waist and wrists where Cletus had additional straps across his upper arms, chest, thighs, ankles and throat.

"And how does it feel to be back, Mr Brock?" Dr Warren had met the boy for a few days before his incarceration. He had found the man to be devious and of forethought. Any respect he might have cultivated lasted as far as the breakdown.

"I had never noticed all the details of the roof before." Eddie referenced his supine position.

"Very good," Dr Warren nodded. Dr Kafka had walked over to Cletus's bed and discussed in quiet tones his need for water. "Now today is just for the extractions of a couple of samples and then the two of you will be going back to Ravencroft."

"Oh good," Eddie sighed.

"You are still in need of treatment Eddie," Kafka held a styrofoam cup with a bendy straw to Cletus's lips. "I'm liking this improvement but we need to keep it consistent."

"Sure Doc," Eddie turned his head. "I'm definitely looking forward to more of these field trips."

"Of course," Dr Kafka disguised her displeasure. There was a dry slurping sound and she took the cup away from Cletus. In a reflex action, she picked the straw from his mouth with two fingers. Tugging until he finally stopped biting down on the tip.

"Ms Whitman," Dr Warren announced the end of his conversation with the experiment. "Bring me the syringes. It is time to begin."

"What the hell did you let happen?" Spider-man growled as Captain George Stacy lifted up his office window to let the vigilante in.

"I didn't let anything happen," George Stacy said in a tired voice he usually reserved for pushy reporters. "The FBI and HomeSec had taken this out of my hands."

"Passing the buck?" Spider-man scoffed. "I thought--"

"You're angry Spider-man. Whatever you're going to say is not what you will want to have said." The Police Captain interrupted with an authoritative voice that would have made Julius Caesar say "Yes sir! Right away sir!"

"Fine!" Spider-man growled. "But Tombstone has fled the country and he's not going to answer for his crimes! How can you sit there on your hands!"