A Different World (Patreon)

Some days, Peggy regretted following in Steve’s footsteps. The test with the refined Super Soldier Serum, the Infinity Formula that had made her functionally immortal, then the freak accident that had made the injection invalid, ensured she would always be an oddity of nature. She’d served SHIELD faithfully, rising to Director and being able to captain the ship with complete continuity for decades on end, and even after the collapse of SHIELD (or rather, HYDRA), she’d been able to find a place with the Avengers, her old student Tanya having built Peggy a suit much along the lines of her own. Now she was a superhero, wielding power Steve could only dream of.

But on the other hand, it meant she had lived to see a day like today.

“Two Starks?” she said into the communicator, getting a nod from the projection of Pussy on her HUD. “Crikey o’riley…”

“If it’s any consolation,” Pussy said. “There seems to be another me. And another Maritza, but more Caucasian.”

“How odd,” Peggy replied. “No rhyme or reason to it?”

“None so far. I’m just wrapping up a business deal; I’m heading over to Tanya’s now. She thinks this little craziness might lead to something bigger.”

“Two Starks leading to disaster? Safe bet. We’re about done here. M'Baku’s attempted coup went nowhere. Hulk’s working on the last of the drones now; we left them running to give him a little work-out. You know how he gets.”

“Mmmm,” Pussy remembered well, smiling fondly. “If takes more than some evil robots to tire him out…”

“Don’t worry, Potts, I don’t intend to partake without you. Actually, I have a theory about that I’m antsy to try. Must dash at the moment, though. The king has something to say.”

“Put a bow on it first chance,” Pussy said. “Tanya’s gotten into enough trouble to know when some is on the way.”

“Will do. Carter out.” Peggy closed the communication channel, gave her HUD a quick looksee, checked the radar. Nothing out of the ordinary. T’Challa was coming into the center of the village, as planned. She took off, setting her suit to hover, and zoomed her visor in on him as he prepared to speak.

The speaking arena of the Wakanda was not ostentatious among the city of Jamella. There were many sprawling towers that surpassed its grandeur, and even on the cliff it overlooked, power generating turbines, by happenstance similar in design to the rotors that once bore SHIELD’s Helicarriers, hung from that same cliff, dwarfing it. A great limestone statue of a panther, fifty feet in length and painstakingly preserved since the time of the Pharaohs, sat among the cityscape with greater splendor.

But there was something special about the arena, an open-air amphitheater where many times, the right to rule Wakanda had been contested, won, lost. It was still adorned with the lush animal skins and carven tusks, some dating from prehistoric times, that had marked it as a sacred place when Wakanda was in its infancy.

The Chamber of Combat was at present underneath the floor of the arena, ready to be uncovered and rise up to serve at a moment’s notice, but that would not be necessary. M'Baku’s would-be coup had not been in accordance with Wakandan law, a dishonorable attempt to overwhelm the ruling government by force of arms. He would not be granted a trial by combat.

T’Challa stood in the raiment of his office and the costume in which he had become known around the world: the garments of the Black Panther, still battle-damaged and bloodied from the fight. His mask had been removed, and his handsome face, its thousand-yard stare more intense than ever, surveyed the crowd. There were those in attendance in the stands, simple citizens of Wakanda and loyal members of his government, come to watch. There were also those on the ground with him, captured enemies, bonded and chained, kneeling in accepted defeat. They had known the risks and now, with what honor remained them, would pay the price.

There were too many to simply execute. Taking even a single life in cold blood raked at T’Challa’s nature, even as rightful punishment for treason. Moreover, as King he was expected, by his people, his allies, and most of all himself, to be attuned to his kingdom. To have grown so unpopular that such a large uprising could take place—one actually requiring the assistance of outsiders to subdue—it was a shocking turn of events.

And where one rebellion had grew, another had flourished. He would not rule only out of grudging respect or fear. He would be embraced by his populace, with their full trust and mandate, or he would not rule at all. And so, he would have to win back his kingdom, answer to the charges that had been brought against him, even in so unforgivable a manner as open warfare, with all the attendant loss of life and property.

Walking slowly, both for dramatic effect and so as not to rip the stitches that had so recently closed his wounds, T’Challa approached the leader of the uprising. His old rival, M’Baku, who had long questioned his leadership and sought to undermine him. T’Challa thought he had the man’s measure. His lust for power was such that he probably would have taken up arms against his king on the first day of T’Challa’s rules, if his canny mind had judged he would be successful. T’Challa did not respect or like the man, but he was the one who held the secret of how T’Challa’s people had turned so surprisingly against him.

It was true what his father had said, T’Challa thought to himself. An enemy is often one’s best teacher.

“M’Baku!” T’Challa called, and for all his exhaustion, his voice rang out as stridently as it would on the dawn of a fresh day. “You have gathered these people’s trust and in doing, only led them to crime and loss. Explain yourself!” He paced before the ranks of traitors, feeling an odd sense of pride in how his countrymen faced him: beaten but unbroken, willing to hold their heads high and accept the consequences of their actions. “I am your king. I do not feel anger or affront at your actions. I only seek to know how such a great gulf could form between us. Have I not ruled with compassion? Have you not found my back strong when it was required, but my touch soft when it was able? How then can you turn against me?”

“We turn not against you, sire,” M’Baku said, his wheedling voice almost driving T’Challa to uncontrollable rage. “We turn against the path you have set us on. Wakanda is strong, yes—your peerless stewardship has made it so. But how long will this prosperity last when you put yourself in harm’s way time and again? When you ally yourself with foreign influences, any one of whom may seek to poison us from within? And most especially, when you have not produced an heir to lead us into the future when you are gone, oh, let it be many moons until such a grave day comes to pass!”

He threw his arms up to the heavens in open beckoning. T’Challa would not offer the warmth of his spit to such a performance. Before this public hearing, his sister had come to T’Challa’s chambers to beg for his life, promising anything: M’Baku’s sworn loyalty and denouncement of his fellow traitors, even her own body to sway T’Challa. And T’Challa knew M’Baku had sent her, his own sister, on that disrespectful errand. The man had no loyalty to any but himself.

“As king, I am an example to my people. I live my life to its fullest, not turning away from risk, neither courting it foolishly or impetuously. In this manner, I am unafraid to die. As for my allies, the Avengers, I trust them with my life, and moreover, they trust me and Wakanda besides. It does not weaken us to have others we may rely upon in times of crisis. When the Chitauri invaded New York, the Avengers stopped them. If those insects had attacked Wakanda, would you have us fight alone, or would you have these champions shoulder the burden alongside us?”

“Kulipiza kisasi!” someone in the crowd shouted out. Others took up the cry. “Kulipiza kisasi! Kulipiza kisasi!” A borrowed phrase from the Swahili language. It had come to mean Avengers.

In the fight for Wakanda, the population had been greatly impressed by the bravery and skill the Avengers had shown against M’Baku’s hacked security drones, as well as their obvious care in protecting civilians and leading relief efforts after the battle. Whatever doubt there was in T’Challa’s regime, it did not extend to his alliance with the Avengers.

T’Challa waited a moment, letting the emotion spill over, gesturing to the Avengers who stood along the highest points of the amphitheater, watching closely for any further treachery. There was Spider-Man, resting in a web-hammock, giving the crowd an appreciative thumbs up. Silk, the rookie, who had joined with them after freed from a prolonged HYDRA attempt to replicate Spider-Man’s power set. Spider-Woman, a last generation HYDRA experiment who had led the fight against them as soon as escaping, resulting in the downfall of their cell inside SHIELD. Ms. Marvel, an American military pilot whose receipt of alien powers had made her simply too strong not to be an Avenger. Black Widow, the Russian spy. Peggy Carter, carrying on the legacy of Tanya Stark by wearing her tech into battle. Psylocke, the mutant telepath who had left the X-Men to fight for acceptance as an Avenger. Songbird, the former supervillain, who now fought alongside her one-time enemies. And Hulk, who was not present, but could be heard in the distance, disposing of the few remaining drone.

“Your friends are indeed mighty, majesty,” M’Baku allowed. “But will they rule in your stead when you fall? One of your royal duties is to produce an heir but if, heaven forfend, you had lost your life today—“ M’Baku allowed himself a smile only T’Challa could see. Next time, it seemed to say. “The great royal lineage of Wakanda would be at an end. Are you unwilling to produce an heir, sire? Or… unable?”

“You dare—!” T’Challa began, his anger getting the best of him, driving him to take a step toward M’Baku with risen hand. M’Baku cringed and T’Challa stopped himself. There was no honor in engaging a worm in combat. “As with my father and his father before him, when I find a suitable consort, we will be properly married and a heir borne in due course. How can it be otherwise? Do you expect me to ‘rush’ finding Wakanda’s next queen? Or speed into being a father as loving and knowledgeable as my T’Chaka was?”

“Perhaps you spend more time amongst your alliances than here on your native soil, where a worthy queen and mother could present herself?” M’Baku ‘suggested.’ Murmurs of agreement went up from his fellow prisoners. T’Challa could only wish his oily manner was as obvious to the people as it was to him.

“There you are wrong,” T’Challa said. “In traveling the world, I find myself in the company of heroes, many of them exceedingly beautiful, intelligent, and courageous—women Wakanda would be truly fortunate to have as queen!”

Now discontent went through the crowd, even the gathered subjects who had remained loyal. The prospect of T’Challa being wed to an outsider—a white-skin, even—was discomforting to all but the most liberal of Wakandans.

“You have seen them in battle!” T’Challa reminded them, voice raising. “Would any of you claim that there is a Wakandan alive who could fight harder than them, even among our men?”

“And they would have you as a mate?” M’Baku asked, now no longer bothering to hide his disdain. His previous obsequiousness dropped away like a shed snakeskin. “We know how the outside world looks upon Wakanda! With jealousy and derision! None of them would consent to lay with you—even if you were capable!”

M’Baku’s defiance was now open disrespect. T’Challa stepped forward to slap him hard across the face. “Your next insult to the crown will find you against my hand again, and this time I shall come away with your entire head!”

T’Challa would never admit it, but M’Baku’s craven cowering was quite satisfying.

“You doubt my allies and my virility!” he bellowed to the crowd. “If it please you, then, a demonstration of both may be arranged! Songbird! Widow! All who are willing! Come! Let us prove to these naysayers what we already well know…”

***

A cool sea breeze swept up the side of the cliff, borne in by the river that had carved through the land to form the canyon that the amphitheater abutted. Natasha stood on the edge, listening to the surf churning restlessly from the mouth of the river, crashing down the rocky rapids. She looked over at Melissa, her new teammate Songbird, and knew she felt the same way. Restless and churning.

“He asked for me,” Melissa said, her face as colored as the pink dye in her hair. “I’ve never been with him before… never been with a black man before…”

“It’s just like any other man,” Natasha assured her. “You should have him. You fought well. You’ve earned this.”

“I don’t know… I mean, can I really…”

Natasha tipped off the side of the cliff, her hand held out. She felt Melissa grab it, arresting her over the moon-bathed water that pitched and tossed below her. She felt, to her bones, the chill of the salty breeze as Melissa pulled her back.

“I trust you,” Natasha said, back on stable footing. “T’Challa trusts you. We celebrate that trust.”

She pulled the zipper down her catsuit. T’Challa was approaching this precipice, jutting from the edge of the cliff like a long, flat tongue out of the mouth of the amphitheater. His powerful body ceased to blend with the night as he shed his dark camouflage, brown skin glimmering with sweat standing out in the night. As dark and deadly as the waters rushing far below.

“I have long thought, Natasha, that you wear quite the ensemble. Simple, yet elegant.”

Natasha smiled at him as she stepped out of it. “It’ll hold me until something better comes along to keep me warm. But you mentioned Melissa…”

T’Challa looked at her. “She does not wish—?“

“She’s uncertain,” Natasha said. Simply. Elegantly. “But she could just watch us.”

T’Challa nodded. “Many will. But that may still embarrass her. Perhaps she should wait in the Quinjet…”

“It’s not like t-that!” Melissa stammered, her blush deepening. “I’d like to. I mean, I want to… but I’m… I’m…”

“Scared?” Natasha asked.

“I’m not scared!”

“Good. There’s nothing to be scared of,” Natasha remarked as she removed her bra and panties as well. She stood, exquisitely unashamed, in the night air. “We’ll take good care of you.”

“Promise?” Melissa asked.

“It would be our fondest pleasure,” T’Challa assured her.

Melissa quickly began undoing her uniform. She was scared to death, but she’d rather die than miss out on this, sex with her heroine, Black Widow. T’Challa had planned this expertly. The prospect of being with Natasha was just enough inducement to get Melissa to take a chance on him. Now he felt his balls tighten as his strategy came to fruition.

Melissa was a slender girl, her body fit and trim, breasts modest—a quiet physique for a quiet woman. Her features had a striking Jewish heritage, with a nose of great profile, wide eyes, and a sweetly pointed chin that made her appear cute in the manner of an Audrey Hepburn or Meg Ryan. The irony being the irony. Her superpower was sonic blasts from an implant in her throat, while her eroticism came from the very shyness and litheness of her, the sylph-like innocence of her manner. It was just a matter of finding her voice.

Not that T’Challa didn’t have a healthy appreciation for Natasha’s more conventional beauty. She was well-rounded in comparison to Melissa, the same height, but with a good deal more curves, and a good deal more confidence in them. The confidence was well-placed. Even her hair was curvy, the red falling in gentle waves below her neck, meeting the smattering of red freckles upon her shoulders. Her face was chiseled, sculpted, but with just the right amount of softness, beautiful in a European fashion.

Natasha took up position behind Melissa, kissing her neck and massaging her shoulders as the naked T’Challa approached. No matter how slowly he approached, he had the manner of a lion stalking its prey, and Melissa smiled, both nervously and daringly: eager to meet the big cat.

He knelt before her. First taking her hand and debonairly kissing its back, then leaning forward to kiss her naked belly. Natasha’s hands moved up to Melissa’s temples, rubbing them as now T’Challa bowed down with fiendish grin. He tongued Melissa for a tasty moment, not stopping until Melissa reached out and stroked the back of his head encouragingly. Her moans and sighs were without end.

“Now give her some cock,” Natasha said, and if it were possible, Melissa became even more aroused. She nodded vigorously.

T’Challa stood, embracing Melissa from the front just as Natasha held her from behind, both of them holding her in place for T’Challa to aim himself at her cunt and push into her soaking pussy. Melissa wailed as his fat cockhead throbbed in her entrance, and she only got louder as he rubbed himself up and down through her open slit. His plump head had completely vanished, Melissa’s hairy pussy—one half pink, the other white—collaring his shaft, seeming to drag him deeper with every breath.

“Shove that big fucker up into her!” Natasha panted, punctuating the remark with a vicious lick up Melissa’s cheek and a hickey delivered to the side of her neck.

Melissa agreed, so enthusiastic it was like she was being used by Natasha as a puppet. “Give me more, T’Challa… give me all of it!” All said while Natasha’s lips were a suction cup upon her throat.

T’Challa’s hands rasped down her hips, fingers curling along the curve of her ass. He pulled Melissa to him, his cock entering her to the hilt, not stopping until her labia was plastered to the base of his prick.

“Oh my God!” Melissa cried, her voice reverbing with enough of her power to stir her own hair as well as Natasha’s. Her cunt had been totally stuffed for the first time, and she loved it, eyelashes fluttering, lips parted in a soft moan. “It’s so good…”

T’Challa held himself inside her, grounding his cock in her sex, but not yet pumping into her. He was fascinated by her tightness, her unfamiliar grip on him. She clung to his cock, practically sucking on it with her body. He hunched over her, kissing the deliriously happy girl, then moving past her to Natasha and her plump, upthrust breasts, taking her left nipple between his lips and suckling hungrily.

Melissa arched her body, hooking her thighs around T’Challa’s flanks and locking her heels behind his waist. With Natasha holding her up, it was easy. His cockhead flared deep inside her and she kissed the top of his head while he still bent to Natasha, imagining having that big cock of his flooding her with cum, his jism mixing with her own wet climax.

“Pump it into me!” she gasped, her voice rasping subsonically. “Fill my cunt with your… you!”

T’Challa groaned and drew out slowly, raising his head from Natasha’s breast as well. When only his cockhead was inside her, his wet cock throbbing between them, he fed it to Melissa again. He sunk balls deep into her and Melissa loved it, gyrating and churning with the building friction. She whipped her hips against his, matching T’Challa’s vigorous strokes, slamming herself onto his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she groaned as he pushed himself into her with lustful thrusts, Natasha barely able to hold Melissa up as he powered into her. Behind the two women, the cliff opened into a looming gulf. Natasha dug her feet in, even as she added her chorus to Melissa’s limited vocabulary.

“Hammer her cunt, Panther! Fuck her ass off! Fuck that cunt to jelly!”

T’Challa rammed in furiously, his prick swelling with every stroke. His balls slapped against Melissa’s ass like wrecking balls, splashing in the cream that seeped from her cunt. Her thighs tightened and relaxed, drawing him in and letting him pull out, her thin belly becoming a hollow cup for him to fill. Melissa relaxed into Natasha’s grip as well, drumming her heels on T’Challa’s ass, feeling Natasha’s hands reaching around to her breasts, teasing her nipples as much as T’Challa’s hairy chest was.

Her cunt was sucking on T’Challa so tightly that he had to yank hard in order to withdraw, and each time, her pearly juices seeped out in fresh waves. It was no surprise that the next thrust brought Melissa to orgasm, prolonged and leaden, his pussy seeming to grow heavy with pleasure, laden with it as she just kept coming.

T’Challa slammed himself in harder and faster, pumping her climax to the peak. Natasha watched with fascination, head down, eyes glowing as she watched Melissa’s cunt pounded to orgasm with five million other people. She had the best view.

***

Peggy envied her. She seethed and fumed, her armor’s sensors zooming in on Natasha’s neglected pussy, confirming her body heat had risen, all her erogenous zones prepped for firm usage. Natasha had been her protégé, her best field agent, and a dear friend. It was a shame that her tasty cunt was empty, her tongue only licking her own lips, her mouth filled only with saliva.

***

Natasha slid down, onto her knees, behind Melissa’s jerking ass, T’Challa’s hands holding it up with ease. She flashed her tongue around T’Challa’s balls, up his shaft, along the edges of Melissa’s well-filled pussy. She spread her hand over Melissa’s cunt, feeling T’Challa throbbing inside it, then drew her slurping tongue up the crack of Melissa’s ass. Into her hole.

“Ohhh! Natasha’s licking me!” Melissa cried, instinctively tightening on the spy’s probing tongue.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” T’Challa said. He slapped Melissa’s ass beside Natasha’s head. “Give your tongue to her. Ream her out.”

“Oooh… yes!” Melissa wailed encouragingly, loving the naughty little embellishments of being in a threesome. It was driving her wild, she knew it, she loved it, and she yearned for them to join her at the very crest. “Shoot into me, Panther!”

Natasha slid down to lick his balls some more as they rolled like bowling balls, weighted down with his heavy loads. She could feel them thrumming violently. “He’s gonna cum!”

“Yeah, yeah, feed it to me!” Melissa gasped, heaving her ass against T’Challa with his cockhead in the very core of her body, his seed suddenly splashing inside her, steaming hot. “YES! I love it! Love it…”

T’Challa clawed into Melissa’s ass, grinding her against himself as he filled her cunt with spurt after spurt. Melissa was so full she felt like a bicycle tire being pumped up, his thick cum splashing inside her loins, pouring from her cunt. Natasha licked and sucked at his rippling balls as they shot into Melissa, feeling them finally still, drained, yet still heavy.

Melissa continued to pump her pussy on T’Challa’s prick, bouncing up and down on the hardness he so thoughtfully provided her, grounding out the last sweet spasms of her pleasure with a sea of cum inside her.

“Mmmmm…” she purred. “Fucking is wonderful.”

T’Challa set her down slowly. Spread-eagled on the ground, her cunt remained open in a wide oval, white with his cream. Natasha knelt down and clamped her mouth to Melissa’s womanhood, hungrily sucking both the girl’s juices and the man’s seed. When she looked up again, it was without surprise that she saw T’Challa was still hard.

Melissa let out a yawn. There was only so much cock she could take.

“Guess that makes it my turn,” Natasha said. “Which means it’s your call, o king: ass or pussy?”

***

Silk watched in intrigued surprise, feeling a familiar itch. A way too familiar itch. Ten years in a bunker, nothing but itches, she was ready to act on them. Especially after seeing how nice it’d been for Melissa.

It was funny. She and Jessica Drew had been part of the same HYDRA experiments, trying to create a cost-effective super-soldier—one spider bite and instant army. But Jess was nothing like her—short-tempered and cold to her. Melissa, despite practically having been in HYDRA, was more her speed. Older, but totally understanding. A child at heart, sorta, with her own troubles. Troubles that not only made her sympathetic to Cindy, but understanding. She knew when Cindy didn’t need to talk about it, she needed quiet.

She would understand, too, how Cindy needed what Melissa had. Needed it so, so bad.

Cindy approached Iron Patriot, who was pretty approachable, despite being covered head to toe in armor painted like a Union Jack. She wasn’t scary, like Natasha, or really scary, like Betsy. “Is he really going to fuck her?”

“Yes,” Peggy answered.

“Can he fuck me too?” Silk asked.

“Oh yes…”

She pushed Silk forward and soon Silk was walking, soon running, to join Natasha, T’Challa, and the unconscious Melissa. Ripping out of her silken clothes like they were nothing. Displaying her body without shame to all who watched, as if to make up for having no one to see it in the long years underground. The sea breeze caressed her trim, supple body, welcoming her impudently thrusting breasts into open air, puckering the tiny caps of her nipples, making them hard and round.

She still moved with the liquid grace that was hers, but outside the suit that her ass filled out so nicely, the gentle sway of her hips was revealed to be full and sensuous. Her legs were trim and graceful as a show horse’s, all of her on display with a keen eagerness to please that made one feel appreciated and gratified to see her nudity, from the top of her jet black hair, down the pale oval of her pretty face, to her trim waist and flaring ass, all the way to the dainty feet that shreds of her costume clung to almost playfully.

She had spent ten years in a bunker before being freed. She was worth the wait.

T’Challa was getting sucked by Natasha, returning to full hardness before he choose between the smooth ride of her cunt and the incomparable tightness of her ass. He stood proudly, neither vainglorious nor falsely modest, as Natasha knelt before him, lapping at his prick. Then the redhead moved over, making room for Silk to kneel beside her. The two shared a smile, united by lust, acknowledging what they were about to have in common, before T’Challa thrust himself between the two women. They both tongued his manhood, making it pulse and throb as they kissed each other around his girthy shaft.

“This is so delicious!” Silk enthused. “You think it’s T’Challa or Melissa that tastes so good?”

“We can find out later,” Natasha promised, gazing lustfully at Melissa’s sprawled out body.

“It will have to be much later,” T’Challa advised them. “I think she will taste of me for quite some time.”

“Not a problem on your end,” Silk quipped. “Since we’re cleaning your end!”

“Yes. Very thoroughly,” T’Challa groaned, pleased. He rested his hands on their lovely heads, red and black, and felt the bobbing of their bodies as they devoured shaft and testicles alike.

***

They were not the only ones who gazed longingly at T’Challa’s cock, just as T’Challa was not the only one lusting after Cindy and Natasha. Peggy could resist no longer. She hit the Override on her suit, the entire apparatus opening up and discharging her in one fell swoop. Outside its armor, she was entirely naked, and so hot she seemed to glow. She stampeded through the threesome, hoping to make her arousal and her approval and her intentions clear from the start. Though she knew she was team leader, she didn’t want her presence to interrupt the proceedings. Just shore up the ranks.

Her face was radiant with desire, her weighty breasts swollen with need, her shapely thighs moving in arresting sympathy. Naked and smiling, Peggy took up position behind the kneeling girls, facing T’Challa as he looked down on them and waiting to be noticed.

It happened as he plunged into Cindy’s mouth for the first time. The tightness of her inexperienced throat was so good, her gagging so endearingly pleasurable, that he arched back, head lifting to see Peggy facing him.

“My!” he exclaimed. “You do intend to test me.”

Natasha looked over her shoulder and gulped when she realized she’d been caught in the act. Cindy gave a squeal of panic. Both had the irrational thought that this had been a test and they’d failed.

But soon they realized Peggy would not undress to dress them down.

“Tasha’s like a daughter to me,” Peggy explained, patting her red head. “Mummy wants her little angel well-satisfied…”

She displayed the one remaining piece of the Iron Patriot armor she had left behind—a dildo in blue and red that she often used internally during long missions. She knelt behind Natasha, giving her a gentle shove between the shoulder blades, urging her to continue. Natasha took T’Challa in her mouth and faithfully sucked, determined to please both him and her mentor, while Peggy used the dildo to feed a slow stroke up her cunt.

“Oh!” Silk rasped, watching, licking her lips. “You’re fucking—fucking her pussy—fucking her pussy with a big prick—you’re—you’re gonna make her cream!”

Peggy ground the dildo in nearly to its base, watching proudly as Natasha swallowed T’Challa’s prick at the same time. Silk had the right idea, she decided. Verbal feedback.

“That’s good. Suck his meat, Natasha, that’s right!” Peggy encouraged. She leaned her head over Natasha’s shoulders, gazing at the Russian’s lips as they pulled up and down on T’Challa’s shaft. “Yes. Jolly good. And perhaps… if you wouldn’t mind… that does look quite tasty…”

Natasha drew her mouth away, using her hand to offer the cock to Peggy like a weapon, and her senior gleefully accepted it into her mouth and sucked adoringly on it. She tasted residue of cum, the lingering traces of Melissa’s cunt, and a little of Natasha’s comingled lipstick and mouthwash. Bad operational parameters, having it be so obvious who T’Challa had fucked to anyone who would pay attention, but she was a superhero now, not a spy. That came with all kinds of fringe benefits.

When Peggy took her mouth away, T’Challa’s cock was practically steaming, and Cindy was rubbing against Peggy, trying to get in on her and Natasha’s sucking as she had before. Peggy pulled back and T’Challa shoved himself into Cindy’s eager mouth, then into Natasha’s mouth, alternating strokes with his balls dragging over their cleavage.

Peggy looked on in approval for a few moments, enjoying the show. Then she got down on all fours, lowering herself to where Natasha’s perfect ass knelt atop her bent legs. She spread the firm cheeks, Natasha gagging on T’Challa as she realized her old SO would be going down on her. The moment T’Challa pulled free, she cried “Yes, Director, suck me!”

Peggy, though, didn’t have that intention quite yet. She ran her tongue flutteringly up the crack of Natasha’s ass, teasing Natasha’s tight anal hole, hoping to taste someone’s cum. Spidey’s or Bruce’s, even, if not T’Challa’s. But nothing. Shame. Natasha had a tight little hole and knew how to open it up just right. Someone should be taking advantage of that.

Well, Peggy thought to herself, ‘someone’ would. She slid her tongue into Natasha’s anus, enjoying having those smooth cheeks dance in her face, hearing Natasha pant with obscene desire. The girl couldn’t even suck cock, she was too wild for ol’ Peggy Carter’s tongue.

“Do my cunt!” Natasha begged, arm around Silk just to stay up right as she took an asshole full of tongue. But she knew it would take tongue on her pussy, her clit, for her to really get off.

Peggy lowered herself further, turning onto her back and wiggling underneath Natasha’s spread thighs. She could look up, all the way up Natasha’s body, and see how Natasha was kissing Silk around T’Challa’s big cock. She touched Natasha’s labia gently, rubbing her fingers over it momentarily, then spreading it open, slipping her tongue inside and lapping eagerly. Her mouth filled with Natasha’s overflowing juices and she moaned with the taste, with the joy of hot cunt in her face and around her tongue.

“Mmmm…” she purred, “mmmm…” Her head wiggled gently, mouth clamped to Natasha’s cunt, as Cindy picked up the abandoned dildo and thought to use it on herself. She certainly had enough experience, living in that bunker…

T’Challa was fascinated by Peggy eating Natasha’s cunt; Natasha, who by Peggy’s own admission was like a daughter to her. It seemed perverted and depraved in the best possible way. He leaned over the kneeling Natasha, trying to see how Peggy’s tongue interacted with Natasha’s succulent pussy, how her lips pulled at Natasha’s explosive clit.

Peggy rolled her tongue all the way up and off Natasha’s cunt before looking up at T’Challa, almost subconsciously smacking her lips. “Fuck my cunt, you naughty beggar. Fuck my cunt while I suck Natasha’s.”

T’Challa needed no coaxing. He moved behind Natasha, to the prone body that Natasha was straddling, and kneeled between Peggy’s spread legs. Peggy reached down, unerringly finding his prick with her hands even as she ate Natasha out. She guided him to her cunt, then slid her hands up to cup his balls as his cock slid inside her with a lurch.

Peggy’s hips rolled wildly as she met T’Challa’s lunges, her body threatening to fly off the ground were it not for Natasha’s voluptuous flesh kneeling on her face, holding her down. Peggy closed her eyes for a long moment, savoring the taste of Natasha’s sex and the feel of T’Challa inside her. When she opened her eyes, Cindy was above her. Standing in front of the kneeling Natasha and forcing the redhead’s mouth to her groin. Just as she was being eaten out, Natasha was licking furiously into Cindy’s pussy, slamming her tongue into cunt.

Cindy, having watched and masturbated for some time now, was nearly at her peak. She fucked her cunt up and down on Natasha’s tongue, feeling like she was melting, feeling like she was liquid heat. Natasha fed her a little more tongue and she gasped, crying out “Gonna cum!”

It was enough to make Natasha join her, getting off as she buried her face between Cindy’s thighs, having her mouth filled with cream as she poured an equal dose into Peggy, giving and receiving, lost and found.

Peggy drank Natasha’s juices greedily, in ecstasy. Ecstasy compounded by having T’Challa pump into her, rocking her body even as she tried to receive Natasha’s ejaculation, so that it fell all over her face instead of just going into her mouth. She clenched, feeling Natasha’s wet warmth across her brow, and that was enough for T’Challa. His cock bucked violently inside her, and he roared as he exploded in stream after stream, Peggy’s cunt melting on his spurting prick as well. She seemed to be an ocean inside, an ocean that rose and rose—perhaps being fed by the sweet nectar she gulped down from Natasha, the nectar Natasha was drinking from Cindy.

All linked together, they shared themselves fully, moving in unison, sucking and fucking with equal relish. Like some experimental machine, they sped up with T’Challa’s pitched ejaculation, then slowly ground down once their fuel was expended. Cindy fell to her knees; T’Challa stood and faced her with his cock still hard, She took it in her mouth, sucking him to a luster. Natasha went to Peggy’s well-fucked cunt, ending up cheek to cheek with a woken Melissa as she sucked T’Challa’s cum out. They nursed more voraciously at that whitened cunt than they had ever sucked cunt before.

T’Challa pulled away from Cindy; reaching down, he prepared to pull her up for another fuck, but she collapsed right out of his grip. He turned instead toward the sound of footsteps approaching. Psylocke and Spider-Woman were facing him. Both naked. Jess’s green eyes were pale and innocent. Betsy’s moist lips were curled into a smile.

“Save any for us?” Betsy asked, her rolling British accent doing just as much as Cindy’s mouth had to get him hard.

With the same innocent-eyed stare, her fingers reached out to explore the diameters of his cock. The more she traced the bulging shape of his prick, the bigger that shape became.

Jess shouldered past her, putting a little kiss on T’Challa’s chin, then on his upper lip. Teasingly. Baiting him. Their mouths met and T’Challa grabbed Jess’s waist, pulling her to his chest as Betsy squeezed his cock. Rubbing it against her well-sized breasts, letting him feel the heat of her body vividly.

“We’ve got things to play with too,” Betsy said, and T’Challa nodded, kissing Jess once more before pulling on her hair to make her bare her large, pink-tipped breasts to him. His other hand moved over them, fondling them wonderingly, feeling her body heave with a sigh of delight.

Jess rose, putting her hand on T’Challa’s chin, turning him to face her, pressing her mouth to his with her tongue wet and eager. She pushed against him as Betsy had, her hard-pointed breasts jabbing into his bare forearm. Already, T’Challa could feel Betsy’s hands stroking his chest, urging him to return to her, kissing her, fondling her.

With a hand on both women, he fell flat on his back, pulling them down with him. He tugged Jess up to his face, cupping her ass as she straddled him, finding her clitoris, assaulting it until she was writhing frantically, groaning, screaming.

“Yes! Yesss…! Kiss me all over! Kiss my cunt! And then… then…”

“Then he’ll do to you,” Betsy said, throwing a leg over his lap, “what he’s doing to me.”

She lowered herself to his cock, intent on riding it just as Jess was riding his tongue. While Cindy, Natasha, Peggy, Melissa—they all watched.

Sometimes—not always, T’Challa reminded himself, but sometimes—it was good to be the king.