18

Ms. Brant has retired. She lies on her bed, topless. Editing the Daily Bugle can be a lot of work; and it often is. Ms. Brant's just glad to collect whatever time away from it she can...even if she does have collect it away from New York's men.

Somewhere in her chambers, wee Peter Parker is on the prowl...like his successor's uncle, only mite-sized...and younger. MUCH younger... Here and there, Peter lurks around the space of his will-be employer. When she's the size of a titaness, she's more than a gorgeous femme to behold...

He knows he risks sacrificing whatever chances he has of becoming her little photo-taking slave when and if he comes of age... Nonetheless, she's a boss worth taking risks for...as he once almost died in a Kurdish mosque just to prove.

There are portraits, and photos, of men in her house. Some are Brants; others are Leedses. There are at least three pictures of male Brants in Union military uniforms; one wears a sailor's uniform, and another was in the New York state militia. There are at least five of male Leedses who wear the uniforms of New York cops. Peter's shocked there wasn't one Leeds for each of New York's boroughs.

He takes a closer look. Interesting; they ARE all from separate boroughs! And the one from Queens looks exactly like...

No time to dwell, Peter knows. He's got a titaness/will-be boss to stalk...

In her chambers, she slumbers. Her guard is lower than it's ever been...that Peter's seen.

Like a tiny spider, he wall-crawls her bare thighs. Only her panties conceal her NSFWs from his sight; the dark sure doesn't. They seem short, for 1870 panties... But then, this is steampunk; nothing is as it was for real...just with more steam engines than there could've possibly been during the real thing...

Crap; I'm starting to sound like Deadpool.

Ah, Betty Brant's thigh. Peter wonders how many women in her matriline had these, in their respective youths. She probably doesn't know half as much about them as she does her Brant patriline...despite the fact she's not even part of it. But then, she might...

They're so developed. They're in their zenith of development. On their surface, Peter often wishes he was smaller. Her thighs are magnificent; O how he hates J. Jonah Jameson for taking them for granted, back when Ms. Brant was just her physically repressed sidekick.

She dresses like she's EMOTIONALLY repressed... And she's more free to be so, now that physical repression is no longer a necessity for her...

There is NOTHING physically repressed about Ms. Brant to Peter. In all fairness, now HE'S the one who's physically repressed. And as manly as he is, he loves it. He just wishes he could spend every waking moment of it lost atop one of his will-be boss's valuables.

He's like a mite on her thigh. If she woke, she could crush him like one...and it's unclear as to whether Peter could trust his spider abilities to keep him from dying if she tried...

And now, her breasts. Funny; Peter once heard rumors that Ms. Brant was flat-chested. Clearly, whoever coined that rumor had never slept with her. Peter hasn't either; but all in all, he considers this BETTER than sleeping with his will-be boss, while he's still cougar bait material...

With his spider abilities, climbing the bottom of her left boob-the one closest to her heart-feels too easy to be right. But he mustn't pass up her boobs. Depending on how she feels about him, this might be the only chance he gets to ascend them. At his size, it's a long way up, and a long way over.

Far ahead, Ms. Brant slumbers. It's as if she can't feel Peter at all...

Peter's hard for his will-be boss. He's never been prouder to be underdeveloped... Alas, he wishes this could last the rest of his life. And he hopes that, deep down inside, assuming that she'd reject him, she wishes it could too...

He's panting. He can't stop. He loves where he's at. Plus, he's worried that Ms. Brant is going to wake and crush him like a bug at any moment...

Most of the women in New York hate her. Peter can't imagine why. But then again, he thinks maybe he can... If Morgan were here, she'd sure be competing against her for...

Morgan... Peter wonders if he should check up on her? Or better yet, her hot mother? Ugh, but that's SUCH a long way from here. And Peter is so small, and so tired... Nope; the Potts matriline is just going to have to make it through tonight without Spider Man I's protection.

Spider-Man II protects New York now...whoever he really is. The Potts matriline will just have to call him, if a supervillain attacks them in the night...

And now, that's more likely than before. From what Peter's heard, a new villain named le Zebre has replaced Speed Demon on the Sultan's Syndicate... They're saying he supports Napoleon III, but Peter doesn't know. For all Peter knows, the same people probably say that France will win the Franco-Prussian War, and annex Prussia, and any of the German states that try to protect it...as well as all German states that DON'T try to protect it...Austrian and Swiss ones, even...

Well; probably not Austrian ones. Those Hungarian freaks would have Austria's back, if they were invaded. And from what Peter's heard, Austria-Hungary WANTS to be invaded...and NOT because it wants to be any country's subject...

Ms. Brant's lips are big. They open and close, as they please. Gas blows from them, and enters them...not always predictably, but always soothingly. Veins of weak acid flow from her lips...

As much as Peter doesn't think he should, he perches on Ms. Brant's bottom lip. It's wet up here, he can tell. The acid will probably dissolve his hands, if he stays here too long. But as a nerd, he just can't pass up the suspense of being this close to an apocalyptic meltdown...of himself...seventy-five years before the Cold War will begin...

Peter lingers for as long as he dares. Then, he leaps to her upper lip, and continues his climb.

Not a moment too soon, Ms. Brant flicks her tongue. Peter freezes with terror. And yet...he's somewhat stimulated by the discovery that Ms. Brant has a tongue piercing. Nonetheless, her tongue retreats back into her mouth, and she sighs serenely.

Far away, her boobs rise and fall. Peter almost wishes he was still on them then...

He's on the tip of her nose now. It stands high over the rest of her face. It's the peak of it. Needless to say, Peter can see her whole face from here...with Spidey night vision...

This is the face of Ms. Brant. This is what makes her unique. This is also the face of the Daily Bugle's editorship... But then, as icy as Ms. Brant can be, she probably has PR reps for that...

What's more, it's a face Peter has fallen in love with. Way up here, he's almost forgotten all about Liz...and Morgan...and Ms. Potts...and Ms. Reilly...and Kamala, whatever she looks like when she's not dressed as a Muslim...

Up here, he lies atop Ms. Brant's nose, sighs, and smiles. For now, and for as long as it lasts, there's no disorder in his world...

Alas, on either side of him, Ms. Brant's eyes open. She bats her lashes, and smiles. Peter doesn't notice. He's still in sexual ecstasy...

From far away, the back of her hand approaches his feet. There's a ring on its finger. It isn't a wedding one. In fact...

His briefs, ones that he's designed specifically to be worn under his suit, are metal-lined. Peter screams, as these seem to fly away, with him still wearing them.

They smack into the side of Ms. Brant's ring, and stick there. Peter hangs upside-down from her ring, in deathly suspense.

In goat steps, Ms. Brant sits up. She lights a bedside candle, striking the match on the back of the bedside table. It hurts Peter's eyes, as his Spidey sense adjusts to the light. She holds her ringed hand in front of her, and looks down upon little Peter.

He still hangs upside down from her ring, like a little mite. If he was in suspense before, he's terrified now.

"Hello, Peter." Ms. Brant flaps her raven bob. "I've been expecting you."