Ororo and Mark [pt. I]

Storm landed on the balcony of the Royal Apartments with a flourish of windswept white locks and a swirling cape of black and gold, mere moments after leaving Nightcrawler and the worshipers, taking the most direct of routes from one floor to the next on the outside of the palace tower.

The satisfaction of sculpting her people's faith into a monument to Mark – that was a victory song sung with glee, no doubt. And who could deny the fleeting amusement of tending to Kurt's mid-sermon hardon – his recollection of her lessons on public speaking notwithstanding? But this moment was about Mark - her King and god-husband – and she would not fail him in his hour of need.

Inside, the Royal Bedroom was a fittingly lavish affair, all delicate fabrics and soft lighting, a tapestry of tasteful artistry and opulent excess. She and dear Nakia had taken great care in commanding the remodeling of T'Challa's former suite, creating a space that was both comfortable and luxurious, a sanctuary for the weary King and his loving wives. Mark's own additions standing out like sore thumbs while giving the place some much needed masculine energy...the holographic gaming system, the painting he'd commissioned of Captain Marvel as a ****-girl, her womanhood split around his shaft while he stood triumphantly behind her (Ororo's love had a particular fascination with breaking the powerful blonde super-heroine and leader of the Avengers which had led to several of her comrades focusing their efforts on this objective), and the several raised pedestals that usually contained prized converts to the cause who would stand exposed and frozen as living statues for hours at a time, though they were all empty now.

It showed Mark's discontent that he wished to be alone, though Ororo had little doubt that he'd appreciate her company.

She was here, of course, upon a most serious of duty. Duty she took very seriously indeed. Mark's conscience had been corrupted by psychic contact with a mere human woman's opinion on his actions. Her task was to tease apart such poisons, to distract, and set her lover back upon his righteous path.

Duty beckoned, but oh, the glorious sight that awaited her as she crossed the familiar space where she often spent her nights beside him.

Mark, her king, her husband, sprawled across his royal settee like a magnificent, troubled lion.

And there it was – so many glorious inches of cut Mutant majesty. A weapon of mass procreation, a throbbing pillar of desire that pulsed like a live wire in the opulent chamber. Nightcrawler's playful blue and pink stallion appendage? A cute pony compared to this snorting, magnificent white stallion. Bless Kurt's his heart, but Mark's manhood was a sculpted masterpiece, a vision of raw masculinity that demanded worship.
It stood at attention, a stark white beacon against his soft physique reaching a point level with his nipples.

The view was further enhanced by the evidence dangling below – his colossal treasure sack, easily housing the gonads of ten lesser men. Unlike Nightcrawler's leathery, barnyard-smelly scrotum, a clear reminder of his animalistic nature, Mark's was a monument to virility – smooth, veiny, and undeniably human in appearance. Just the sight of it sent a primal pang through her core, an undeniable tug that transcended mere desire.

She could have gazed upon his naked form forever, her body quivering with anticipation at the thought of a lifetime filled with his constant, unwavering attentions.

But her duty – and her lust – would not wait.

His brow was furrowed and such was his dilemma that he had not noticed her arrival.
Storm raised her arms toward the skies, calling down a refreshing breeze into the room as she strode toward him. It was a gesture of comfort and peace, one she hoped would bring him some relief from his dark thoughts.

"Your heart is troubled, my king," she said, her voice laced with concern. "What afflicts you so?"

She bowed deeply before him, the effect this movement had upon her ample cleavage easily noticeable by Mark from his seated position and entirely by design.

"Oh-" His eyes widened slightly as they raked over her curvy frame. "-hey, babe. N- nothing. Honestly." He grinned ruefully, trying to put up a brave front despite his obvious discomfort. "I'm fine."

"Lies do not become you," she replied softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Tell me, my King. What troubles you?"

He sighed heavily, his gaze falling to the floor in an uncharacteristically subservient manner. "It's nothing, Ororo. Really. I just-"

Ororo cut him off with a disapproving frown.

"You are my husband, Mark, and as such it is my duty to serve you. Tell me what troubles you and I will do all in my power to ease your burden."

"Okay..." Mark glanced at her uncertainly. "I guess it's just... I was just in this lady's mind- with Chuck's powers and everything. And I don't know. I felt... weird. I felt kinda bad." He grimaced, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Like... guilty or something."

"Guilty?" Ororo frowned. "Why?"

"Because she's upset!" he snapped, his temper flaring momentarily before he composed himself once more. "Because she thinks I'm a monster! What I've done to her country- to her friends and family- it's not right!"

Ororo's expression softened and she reached out to stroke his cheek tenderly.

She straddled Mark's lap like a tempestuous goddess claiming her throne. Their combined thrones, in fact, for nestled between them was the undeniable evidence of his power – a massive ivory tower of desire whose thick base pulsed against the soft valley of her womanhood, her barely there g-string bikini bottoms serving as little more than a symbolic barrier.

The colossal glans, the size of a well-worn fist, peeked out from between her ample breasts. She leaned forward slightly, pressing herself against his smooth torso, the bulk of her cleavage enveloping the prodigious member in an impromptu flesh sandwich. Her breasts, lush and inviting, molded around his pulsating manhood in a gesture of affectionate display, the thick tube pulsing like a hot metal bar of virile power.

He muttered, his voice strained, "One woman... one mind… and suddenly it all feels… wrong. So wrong."

Ororo's voice was a seductive caress as she spoke against his cheek, ""One mind," she echoed, "A single, feeble thought lost in the tempest of your glorious reign, my king? Is this truly what troubles you? A wisp of dissent from a mind already bathed in the cleansing light of your truth?"

She increased the pressure upon his throbbing shaft, molding the fullness of her heavy breasts around its veiny mass in a gesture of playful reassurance.

"Mark, my king, my lover, You are a storm, a **** of nature that reshapes the world in its wake. Do storms fret over the fate of a single withered leaf caught in their fury? Do they apologize for the cleansing rain they bring upon a parched land?"

"Damn, your words are always just as beautiful as you are."

"That's why you made me your consort, is it not? Beauty, wisdom, and spirit?" Ororo smiled gently as she pressed her lips against his forehead and placed another kiss on his cheeks before meeting his lips.

They made out for a while and then he pulled back, still pensive, "But what about what I'm doing to their... families... you know rearranging it so all the guys don't get to have kids, just raise mine and my uh... soon to be mutant bros."

"My dearest Mark," she purred, her voice a sultry caress that danced across his skin. "Do these 'men,' with their… limitations," she trailed off, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper as she teased a finger around the prominent ridge of his glans, "truly require the cumbersome act of procreation to find pleasure?"

"Remember, Mark," she said, her voice deepening to a husky whisper, "the Wakandans, under the wise rule of Bast, the goddess of pleasure herself, have always embraced the joy of the flesh. And what greater joy can there be than to help raise a generation of powerful mutants, a testament to your glorious reign?"

Leaning in closer, her lips grazed the sensitive skin along his jaw, sending a shiver down his spine. "Their… equipment," she continued, her breath hot against his skin, "is it truly suited to the likes of a fine Markandan woman? Those _hu_manhoods" she chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down his spine, "are better suited for… solo exploration, wouldn't you agree? Their own hands are perhaps the most fitting companions for such… modest organs?"

The head of his manhood, a glistening crimson apple, pulsed with a feverish intensity, erupting in sporadic bursts of thick pre-cum. Ororo, ever the opportunist, wasted no time. With the fervor of a hurricane descending upon a helpless village, her tongue lashed out, capturing a single, glistening pearl in its wet embrace. She savored the salty tang, rolling it across her taste buds with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving his.

A throaty laugh erupted from Ororo's chest, the sound both playful and laced with an undercurrent of undeniable power. She knew exactly how to push his buttons, how to turn his anxieties into arousal.

Mark, unable to help himself, mirrored her laughter, the tension momentarily broken. "Ororo! You are really mean when you want to be," he conceded, his voice tinged with amusement. "I love it. But...I just... I thought all this breeding stuff was awesome and sexy until I was in that woman's memories..."

Ororo's smile widened, predatory and confident. "It is awesome and sexy, my love," she assured him, her voice dripping with a seductive certainty. "And by now, that woman thinks so too. The only problem here was that it took so long for us to find her and her compatriots. Regrettable, perhaps, that she experienced some temporary bewilderment, but now all such thoughts have been wiped clean. Her mind, like the minds of all Markandans, is finally free from the shackles of outdated taboos and societal constraints. Now, they understand the true beauty and liberation of what we've brought them."

"Yea, yea, you're right...." He said as he gazed at her breasts mesmerized by the jiggling sight of her vast brown globes and he sank his hands into them, squashing them around his massive white shaft.

Ororo could sense his renewed ardor and it pleased her greatly. She began to rock her hips back and forth along his length in a slow, sensual rhythm, the soft folds of her labia spreading and conforming around the wide base of his throbbing erection.

"Besides, my king," she continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "think of the future we are creating. A future where mutant children, born from your glorious lineage and the wombs of these beautiful Markandan women, will flourish. A future where mutants are not just tolerated, but celebrated! These men," she added dismissively, "they are a mere footnote in this grand tapestry we are weaving. A necessary sacrifice, perhaps, but a sacrifice that will pave the way for a mutant utopia."

"God. You really believe that. You just take my bullshit and somehow make it sound beautiful." He murmured in wonder and awe, "The guys with the tiny dicks are irrelevant. Got it."
She gave him a sly grin as she ground herself harder against him. "Exactly," she breathed, her voice laced with undisguised lust. "We will breed an entire generation of mutant babies, the inheritors of your glorious lineage. They will be a testament to your power, a symbol of our love."

Mark groaned, his breath quickening as she increased the pace of her movements, grinding her slickened core against him with almost **** intensity. "Fuck yes!" he growled, his voice heavy with arousal. "Gonna fill every last one of those Markandan wombs with mutant seed!"

Ororo laughed delightedly, "Yes! Fill them all! Every fertile womb will bear mutant fruit! I do believe dear Nightcrawler is doing his part right this very moment!"

The knowledge that Kurt was even now sowing his mutant seed upon the Markandan populace was too much for Mark. With a roar of primal lust, he reached for her hips and flipped her onto her back in one fluid motion, their bodies entwined in a sensual tangle of limbs and pillows.

"God. That's hot," he panted. "I'm going to fucking flood this country with my mutant children! And all your X-Men are going to be following my example, just pounding black pussy and emptying their balls into them every chance they get! "