Mysterio Jones Watson

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“Is that your phone in your pocket, MJ?” Peter Parker asked.
“Mm-hmm, yep,” Mysterio replied, shifting himself around so that his cock wasn't jutting against the hero’s hip. He pressed his breasts against Spider-Man's arms, knowing that was usually sufficient to distract the teenager.
   It had been a week since Mysterio had faked his death in London. A week since he’d been a respectable villain, now reduced to this absurd charade. The plan had been a concocted at the last minute - kidnap Spider-Man’s girlfriend and use the drones to project a holographic shell of the girl around Mysterio, allowing him to get close enough to Spider-Man to steal back the glasses. Simple.
There was of course one very obvious flaw in that plan, which his team were racing to correct - Miss Jones-Watson was an 18 year old girl, while he was a 39 year old man. There was a mismatch there. If the body beneath didn’t match the illusion, Parker’s hand would vanish through the hologram the first time he went for a fumble of a nonexistent breast.
Mysterio’s chest ached from the two large silicone breast implants his team had forced into him. All so that his nemesis would have something to fondle.
“Could you put your arm around my waist this time,” Mysterio said sweetly. The implants inside his ass-cheeks were similarly tender. His team had at least programmed a subroutine into the audio converters to filter out his grunt of pain every time the randy teenager groped Mysterio’s tender cheeks. The audio converters were so far doing a spectacular job modulating his voice into a girly lilt.
"Sure thing, MJ." Peter gripped his waist, and Mysterio’s heart sank as Peter used the closeness as a opportunity to peel up his mask and pull his girlfriend into a kiss. While Mysterio was focused on twisting his head in such a way that his larger nose didn’t bump against Peter’s, Peter took the opening to shove his tongue down his throat. Mysterio nearly gagged. Perhaps the worst part was knowing a live feed of this tryst was being streamed to his team from multiple angles. He played along in kind, examining Peter's tonsils with his own tongue.
At least the lasers and chemical epilation had dealt permanently with his body hair. There’d be no more of ‘MJs’ rough five o’clock shadow scraping against Peter’s cheek as they kissed. That had nearly blown the entire ruse wide open the first time.
And then they were away. Mysterio clung on for dear life as they swung through the city, aware that even the slightest flicker of his disguise would give him away now, while the invisible, hologram-projecting drones struggled to keep pace. His team were similarly rushing to keep up with events, Mysterio’s heads-up display reeling from data as they fed him details of MJ's life, her likes and dislikes, as well as diet tips, gossip, feminine perfumes, and fashion trends. Worst of all was the endless stream of appointments filling his calendar as his team sought ways to improve the foundation of the illusion - liposuction, hair extensions and follicle implants, a buttock lift, jaw and nose reduction and facial feminisation surgery. He shuddered. If this continued, he might not even need the holograms.
“I was thinking we could have Netflix and chill tonight.”
“Of course, honey,” Mysterio replied sweetly. He had no idea what Netflix and Chill was but, 500 feet above the streets of Manhattan, he’d agree to anything. “I-is that your phone in your pocket, Peter?”