Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-37470851-20190404043705/@comment-36855838-20190404134528

A long night of swinging and slinging has left me absolutely exhausted.

After smashing face-first into a telephone pole, I realize I'm too tired for even spider-sense to work properly.

I slowly walk home, everyone is asleep or saved at this hour anyway.

I decide to just use the window tonight, and as I reach it, I slowly compact myself through the gap between the raised pane and the sill.

I touch my feet to the floor, safe at last to relax, removing my suit and then my mask, I stash them into my backpack.

As I turn to hop into bed, I spy my Aunt, May.

May was a minotaur, but to a casual observer she might be mistaken for an odd holstaur, instead.

Her chest was absolutely massive, and she did indeed lactate constantly, she was quite powerful, though, and certainly slept and ate like a normal Minotaur.

Soon, the fact that her eyes were open dawned on me, her shocked expression soon followed.

Before she could say a thing, I shot some web and gummed up her mouth.

Quickly, I closed the window, and sealed the room.

I returned to her, snatching up the silk and devouring it.

"P-peter, what-"

Her hair was dissheveled, long, and brown, like chocolate mousse.

She wore no makeup, ever, and so the lack of sleep and food was quite evident on her once chubby face.

Her eyes drooped, her voice was frail, and it was all related to Ben's death.

Uncle Ben had been a vibrant man, to be sure, and I had never met a luckier man, either.

His luck had run out three weeks back, and Aunt May had swiftly begun to die, from the inside out.

She couldn't sleep, not alone, so I had aggressively moved her to my room, which had marginally improved her health.

But far worse was her refusal to eat, she had stopped about two weeks back, her once round belly had all but vanished, and I knew her organs were next on the menu for her body to cannibalize.

I had made up my mind to start force-feeding her if she didn't improve by friday, or rather, tomorrow.

At least she drank water, and even better, she sometimes drank her milk.

It was by no means enough, but it had helped to keep her partly well.

"Aunt May, I'm spiderman, I don't much care for the details. I'll explain anything you want, if you promise to eat food again."

A tsunami of questions gurgled and died in her throat, and she looked away, suddenly fascinated with the quilt she had been sleeping under for a week.

I headed to the kitchen, ravenous from crimefighting.

I stuffed my face with a chocolate cake, it had gone untouched since Aunt May's birthday on Tuesday.

I heard her footsteps clacking uneasily on the hardwood floor, and walked over to help her to her chair.

She still wore no clothes, just a large pair of black panties.

She flopped into the rocking chair, a quiet moan of anguish escaping her lips.

I shoved a fistful of cake into her mouth, and slung it shut with webbing.

"You're eating, Aunt May. I love you too much to let you starve yourself to death."

She chewed quietly, nodding.

At last, she swallowed, and I released her jaw from the sling.

She immediately yanked me into her lap, shoving my face to her breast.

"I've decided, Peter-" she put her nipple to my mouth, and slapped my back until I began to drink.

"I'm going to keep on living, as long as you're around, I'll be feeding you my milk, and nothing else. I will begin eating again, for you, and only for you."

She motions toward the fridge, and so I unplug it, carrying it over.

I pull out a few things to get her started, some washed apples lettuce, a bowl of oven roasted green beans, cooked beets, and ten bananas.

I put back the fridge, and as I return, I see she hasn't moved, except to open her mouth, and lean forward, her eyes locked on me.

"Well? Won't you help your Aunt?"

---

Whether they wind up banging is up to you.

Oh, and do you pronounce it "an-t" or "on-t?"