Councilwoman One - Part 2 - 8K (Patreon)

Having awoken from the weirdest Ambian-induced dream he'd ever had, the Monarch throws on his tattered, old bathrobe and meanders his way down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee.  With his house being remodeled and still in a semi-stupor from the anti-insomnia drug, he manages to trip over a random pile of paint cans and nearly falls down the stairs.

After a brief string of expletives, he enters the kitchen and goes straight to the coffeepot without giving his wife or his henchmen so much as sideways glance.  He is in no mood for any hi-jinx or tomfoolery.

Dr Mrs: Guh...  G'morning, sweetie.  How'd you sleep?

The Monarch:  Urgh...like shit.  I had the most surreal dream.  You were screaming some guys name while getting schtupped on a Liliana Cavani film set.  Fucking weird.

Dr Mrs and Gary steal a quick, knowing, half-smirking glance as The Monarch turns towards them.

The Monarch: (suspiciously) What?

Dr Mrs: Nothing, dear.  Inside joke.  Yuh had to be there.

The Monarch: Uh-huh.  Whatever.  I'll leave you two jokey-mick-jokertens to your witty, insider exchanges.  Probably talking about me behind my back anyway.  I'm going back upstairs to shower away this drug-funk.

With a raised eyebrow, the Monarch takes a sip of his coffee while eyeing his wife's bathrobe and wet hair.

The Monarch: Or am I going to be taking a cold shower, he asked Dr Mrs 'steams up the bathroom for a solid hour' begrudgingly?

Dr Mrs: Well, if you'd get us a decent water heater that holds more than twenty gallons instead of buying fifteen hundred dollar wall sconces...

The Monarch: Ah, yes, speaking of remodeling...  If Manolo wants to see another sunrise, I suggest he pick up all the paint cans at the top of the stairs.  I nearly fucking died coming down here.

Coffee in hand, the Monarch scuttles out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  At the top he manages to trip over the exact same pile of paint cans as before.

The Monarch: MOTHER FUCKER!

Startled, Dr Mrs suddenly reaches and down and grabs the inside of Gary's thigh as a deluge of paint cans comes clanging and clucking down the stairs.   Gary, in turn, spit-takes milk onto the kitchen table once again.  After a short tirade of death threats and expletives, the upstairs bathroom door slams shut.

Dr Mrs: (chuckling) Ho' jesus...sorry, Gary.

Stifling a snicker, Dr Mrs gently pats Gary's shaft through his sweat pants.

Dr Mrs: I didn't hurt the 'little guy', did I?

Gary: Ohhh, I'm pretty sure a little slap on the schlong is the least of our problems. He knows.  I don't know how he knows?  It's like some kinda Jedi, Martian Manhunter mind reading thing...but he knows!

Dr Mrs: Ohh, don't be so melodramatic, Gary.  We're talking about the 'Mighty Monarch' here, not...whatever you said.

In an attempt to calm her fearful henchman, Dr Mrs returns to gliding her finger down the length of Gary's shaft, pausing to nimbly massage the tip of his mushroom cap.

Gary: We are sooo screwed!  Ok, well, you're not screwed, 'cuz...you know...you're married to him.  But he is totally gonna go all Patrick Bateman on me!

Dr Mrs: Jesus, Gary...c'mon.  Just yesterday I was doing all of our Guild health insurance stuff and needed his social security number.  He told me it was 'five'.  Does that sound like some genius-level, mind reading, bad guy version of Dr Xavier to you?

Gary: Uhhh, no, that sounds like a man who was just screwing with you...'cuz we watched Iron Man the night before!  I am sooo fucked!

Dr Mrs: Alright, fine.  Tell you what.  I'll go up stairs and feel him out and you...

Gary: Can go put on something stab-resistant.

Obviously having failed to calm him, Dr Mrs repeatedly and all-but-gently pokes the center of Gary's girth with her index finger.

Dr Mrs: ...you can go downstairs and clean the evidence we splattered all over the 'Crime Computer'...and the floor...and the...

Gary: Alright, alright...I get it!  Just stop prodding my junk, already.

Gary pushes his chair back and stands up from the table.  Dr Mrs can't help but to notice that Gary's massive member has swollen to the diameter of her forearm, despite all his fearful talk.

Dr Mrs: Oh...and see it you can find my bra.  That WAS a five hundred dollar Carine Gilson, I'll have you know.

Gary: Sooo, what...?  I'm gonna have to like, pay you back or something?

Dr Mrs: We don't pay you, remember?  We'll...uhhh...

Looking up at him with a not-so demure expression on her face, Dr Mrs reaches out and slides her fingertips around Gary's huge circumference, giving it an assertive squeeze.

Dr Mrs: We'll take it out in trade later.

Several hours and a couple of angry tirades later, the Monarch storms out the front door of the mansion, New Jersey metro card in hand.  He doesn't know where he's going or what he's going to do, but it will probably be violent and potentially murderous.

Similarly, Dr Mrs sits on the edge of their bed, irritably muttering to herself.  For all of her bargaining and empathizing...and eventually threatening...nothing she could do or say seemed to lessen his foul mood.  One thing she was certain of, however...he has absolutely no idea what she and Gary had gotten up to earlier that day.

Having heard the front door slam shut, Gary wanders back upstairs, not knowing what to expect.  Finding the ground floor empty, he gingerly climbs the stairs to the second floor, avoiding the paint cans scattered all down the hallway.

Gary: Hello?  Anybody here?

Dr Mrs: I'm in here.

Gary peeks his head around the door frame of his primary's bedroom, finding Dr Mrs sitting in the edge of the bed wearing an odd combination of 'come fuck me' platform heels, fishnet stockings, and the same pink bathrobe as before.  Clothing and various broken knickknacks are strewn about the room, suggesting that things have not gone well.  On the opposite side of the bed, Gary notices the...

Gary: Wow.  The cheerleader outfit didn't work either?

Dr Mrs: Nope.

Gary: So he...?

Dr Mrs: Relax.  He doesn't suspect a thing. He's still got this annoying...agonizingly annoying...obsession with Dr Venture.  No matter how many times I tell him, he just can't seem to get it through his thick skull that Venture isn't his to arch anymore.  Annnd then the... (gestures around the room)

Gary: And then the throwing and the breaking and the threatening and the yelling.

Wanting a change of scenery and to work out some pent up hostilities, Dr Mrs stands up from the bed and walks towards the bedroom door.   As she passes him in the doorway, Dr Mrs nonchalantly runs her fingertips across Gary's crotch with one hand, the other giving him a 'follow me / come hither' finger waggle.  Gary obediently turns and follows his primary down the hallway.

Downstairs, Dr Mrs casually strolls into the sitting room, her absurdly tall heels clicking across the hardwood floors. Turning she silently mouths 'lose the clothes' and then points, gesturing for Gary to be seated in a high, wing back chair.  Continuing forward, Dr Mrs pauses, reaches up and snatches the drapes closed.  Untying her bathrobe, she turns to find her henchman already naked and seated, half-hiding his exposed manhood.

Gary: Shouldn't we, like, go and try to find him or something?  Before, you know, he goes and does something drastic.

Dr Mrs: Nah.  He'll probably just go across the river and yell insults at Venture's ivory tower until somebody calls the cops...or Sergeant Hatred threatens to beat him with a flashlight and throws him off the property.  Or both.  Between walking, the B-train, and two buses either way...and, call it thirty minutes of shrieking at the top of his lungs...that'll give us...

Gary:  Two hours and forty minutes, minimum...four hours with traffic, tops.

Dr Mrs stairs at him, blinking, cocking her head to one side as if to ask 'how do you know that?'

Gary: A good henchman always reconnoiters his primary's arches.  Fastest street routes, flight paths, transit schedules...  (rolls his eyes) Ok, well, it was either the NJT or Manolo's van...we hadn't found the 'egg sack' yet.

Dr Mrs: Urgh.  You two have gotta come up with a less-gross name for it.

Gary: That's what I keep telling him.

Stepping towards him, Dr Mrs opens her housecoat, revealing a black fishnet corset that ties in the front and doubles as a garter belt.  Eyes half-closes, biting her lower lip, she knees down in front of him, spreading his legs apart as she does so.  After pushing his hands away from his crotch, with one hand Dr Mrs attempts to wrap her fingers around the base of his already rock hard shaft.  With the other she attempts to do the same just below his manhood's helmet.

Doing her best to disguise her surprise that her dainty fingers scarcely fit halfway around his circumference, Dr Mrs grins and then faux-bites the tip of Gary's head.  Gary, knowing full-well how she'd struggled to take his enormity earlier that day, gives her a half-smirk and a tilt of his head as if to ask 'you really wanna try that?'  Never the one to decline a challenge, Dr Mrs smiles provocatively and then runs her tongue down the side of his length, pushes his shaft aside, and then cups his enormous, shaven balls.

His massive member pressed against her cheek and nose, she runs her tongue up his thumb-diameter urethra, ending at the frenulum with a little flick.  Her lower lip pressed against the same spot, Dr Mrs pulls Gary's shaft towards her as she rolls her head forward, the corners of her mouth straining to stretch enough to get his entire head into her mouth.

Gary: (chuckling) You need some help?

Dr Mrs: (mildly annoyed) Nw'oh!  I gwaf dis!

After a brief struggle, a lot of staining, and few unintelligible expletives Dr Mrs finally has the entirety of Gary's head in her mouth.  Gary can't help but to laugh.  With her wide open jaw and puffed out cheeks she looks like she's just won Nathan's annual hotdog eating contest.  Letting go of his immense rod, she throws her hands in the air in victory, and attempts to smile around his enormity.

Dr Mrs: Twah...!  (coughs) Twah-Dwahhh!

Amused by the spectacle of it, but knowing full-well that she cannot possibly take in much more, Dr Mrs begins to pull herself off of him.  Just as she gazes up to give Gary a look of admitted defeat she notices the sadistic smile on his face.  Gary swiftly grabs the sides of her head and pulls her towards him.  Wide-eyed. Dr Mrs doesn't have enough time to protest.  Her eyes squinting shut, she instantly begins to choke and retch as his giant staff triggers her pharyngeal reflex.

Red-faced and laboring to breath through her nose, Gary holds her there for several minutes.  She tries to relax, letting her throat and jaw muscles accept the intruder.  Millimeter by millimeter, ever so slowly, she lets him pull her onto him.

More time passes.  With only a quarter of his length down her throat it becomes all too apparent that the Monarch will be home long before she can relax enough to take half of his monster, much less all of it.  That and she'd probably suffocate long before then.

Patting him on the thigh, Gary lets go of her head, giving her a little self-satisfied grin.  Grabbing the base of his shaft with both hands she pulls herself off of him, trying to keep from retching.  Watching as she struggles to take a deep breath between coughing fits, Gary fully expects to hear a long tirade of curses.  However, he is surprised to see a devious, half-smirk as she looks up at him.

Dr Mrs: Funny...  (cough)  Very funny.  Payback's a bitch, big guy.

Before he can retort, Dr Mrs rises to her feet and climbs onto the chair.  On her knees, straddling him, she reaches between her legs and grabs the middle of his shaft. Fighting through the fleeting pain of such a massive incursion, Dr Mrs lowers herself without hesitation.  Leaning forward and draping her arms around his neck, she smashes her more-than-ample mounds into Gary's face.  Arching her back, Dr Mrs begins to roll her hips, grinding herself on the thickest part of his massive cylinder.

Minutes pass as Dr Mrs all but drives herself into a frenzy, once again feeling every ripple and fold inside her pressed taught against Gary's flesh.  The more she grinds the harder she pulls his face between her breasts.  She barely notices that he hasn't made so much as single sound, until a hand begins slapping her ass.  Without slowing her grinding motion, Dr Mrs pushes away revealing a red-faced Gary clambering for breath.  Looking up at her, Gary is met with the same self-satisfied grin he'd given her.

Gary: Alright, alright!  You got me!  So, it's tit for tat, huh?

Dr Mrs: If...  If that's the...  Mmmph.  Mm-hmm.  If that's the w-way you wanna pluh-play it?

Gary: Oh, it's on, sister!

Original Art by HD-2

Commissioned by Phillipthe2