Two fingers, or even three, is hardly anything -- not that Peter doesn't have nice big hands, but they've used up a good quarter-bottle of personal lubricant already, just to be sure. His calluses rubbing inside her make her hips hitch up and her clit ache but two fingers doesn't exactly make her moan, even with Peter crooking them inside her to press against where it feels best. She's already come twice, which is supposed to help -- and Peter has been remarkably helpful with this whole adventure -- but the pleasure keeps ebbing away with the anticipation of what's coming next, what that's going to be like.
Four fingers is much better; Peter works them in and out of her with a diligence that starts pressing into urgency. He's ready to do this, to take her. Everything Gwen's ever read has emphasized the importance of taking it slow, but it's hard to take it slow with Peter so warm and so close and so eager to make her work, dueling with the frisson of utter panic that mom's going to arrive home early from her retreat or one of her brothers inconveniently decided to skip school today. Not very sexy thoughts, which is why it's time to think about him and only him. Peter Parker, alias Spider-Man, also known as the world's most patient boyfriend.
Peter rests his head against her stomach, his eyelashes fluttering against the soft skin of Gwen's belly, and it takes her a moment to realize he's trying to read her laptop screen sideways. (Which is lying next to them on the bed. Her legs are spread wide so Peter can have the optimal vantage point, and the bottle of lube is trickling onto her right knee sock.)
"You reading ahead a couple steps?"
"Just refreshing my memory."
She's feeling a twinge on top of the ache, and ready or not, Gwen is horny enough to go on. She nods, working her tongue between her lips, and can only force out a creaky little 'yes'. Not from lack of enthusiasm -- her mouth is dry, but her pussy emphatically is not, lube or no lube -- but Peter gives her a little secret smile as he hooks his little finger in to rub at her G-spot. (Or what she can only diagnose as her G-spot, with a sexual education that before all this happened mostly consisted of Cosmo.)
"I thought you said you were adventurous."
She tries to coach her whimpering-face into something more presentable. She can feel his hand moving inside her, the bones of his hand shifting and folding up to fit in, and there's a long moment of exquisite pain -- the broadest part of his hand passing through the tight ring of the entrance of her vagina. This feels like nothing else. Gwen makes a sound, hitching up her skirt further as if that'll help with access, and for a moment Peter hesitates.
"Go ahead, keep doing that -- don't you dare stop. It feels too nice."
His eyebrows raise. "Are you sure?"
Gwen's about to somewhat indignantly protest that yes, she's sure, when something suddenly yields. Peter's hand slides all the way in easily, and instantly she is less stretched and more very, very full. It's all the way to his wrist, and she definitely moans then, begins to tighten up to see just how full she really is. His other hand works at her slick clitoris, from what she can see looking down between her legs.
"God, this is tight." Peter Parker, masterful sex fiend, sounds like he's just marveling at her. "I can feel you pressing all around me. God, wow. Oh, Gwen--"
"Now start to fold everything up into a fist -- gently."
"I know, I know." He must be teasing her, because his fingers form the actual fist with exquisite slowness. She can feel all of them, deeper inside her aching slick self than she'd even entertained in her fantasies. All her plans of what she'd want Peter to do, thrusting and squeezing and gripping at her, but for a long moment Gwen just appreciates the staggering strangeness of it.