Birth Rates Rise

"It's okay, Tiger," Mary Jane moaned. "It's a safe day. Give me everything you got!"

Trapped in his webbing, Peter Parker, better known to the world as Spider-Man, sped up his thrusts. Mary Jane couldn't hold back her moans, glad that the apartment's sound proof walls would absorb her screamed as her pussy was pummeled with superhuman speed and accuracy. Her body contracted as climax built upon climax, height on height, the constant stimulation making her almost lose her mind as he showed her what he was amazing, spectacular, sensational...

A moment before her unleashed inside of her, Peter Parker felt that cry of his Spider-Sense. Yet it was too late. Millions of sperm were already unleashed, painting the mouth of his wife's womb white, her cervix spasming and gulping the virile seed straight into her uterus.

It should have been a safe day.

Yet inside of her, new life kindled.

Across the world, couples rutted. Moments of passion came to a head. Rates of conception neared 100%. A million rape victims suddenly carried the child of their attackers. Ten million honeymooners were suddenly expecting parents. Aunt May Parker, bent over a couch in Avengers tower and hiking up her skirt to lure Jarvis for a quickly, suddenly discovered, against all the expectations of age and menopause, that not only was he still virile, but she was still fertile.

Condoms still held, albeit barely.

Hormonal birth control was already beginning to fail.

In forty weeks, there would be a new baby boom.

In the Sanctum Sanctorum of Doctor Strange, the Orb of Agamotto glowed a startling shade of pink.

In Reed Richard's lab, an alarm he had built to detect sudden changes to the fundamental nature of reality began to blare.

In Doomstadt, Victor von Doom saw the flames of the candles of the pentagram flash pink...and then a portal opened.

One of the figures who stepped through was familiar. A tall, golden-skinned man with strange orange eyes and blond hair, wrapped in a red cloak and carrying an eagle-headed staff. Beside him, a woman like enough to be his sister, her shapely, well-muscled form barely clad in a red one-piece that left her arms and legs bare.

"Adam Warlock," Doom named him. "And...?"

"Eve," she said, her voice raw, "his sister."

"And the reason for your intrusion?" the armored monarch asked.

"An assault has begun on the spirit of this world. One which shall overwhelm this planet and turn it into a seething cauldron of fecundity, the cancerous germ that will grow outward until it consumes this universe," Warlock said. "We have sensed your part in this."

Doctor Doom said nothing for a moment.

"An associate of mine has veered from the scheme we had set upon," Doom allowed. "I go now to correct his error, and bring him to heel."

"You will not succeed," Warlock said. "For he has the Soul Stone, and against that, your earthbound magicks are useless. We must combine our forces, layer disciplines, multiply our powers and attack as one, before it is too late."

Doctor Doom glowered.

"What do you propose?"