Playing Games with Agent May

Written in collaboration with Cross C

Melinda May had been the thin line between monsters and civilians for most of her life, which was why she did not flinch now, a hard-on forest before her, and a cackling sorceress as her designated target.

She stood nude in the center of the town square, the sun glinting off the silver rings in her nipples, her posture as rigid and commanding as if she were in full tactical gear.

She was a professional.

And she was aroused anyway.

Because the King was nearby.

Not in sight. Just close enough that the sound reached her, skin on skin, the wet slap of thrusting, a woman’s breath breaking into little helpless syllables. It was a steady rhythm, hungry and unhurried, like something being used exactly the way it wanted to be used.

Melinda’s nipples were hard, the metal rings cold against tender flesh. Her pussy was already damp, slickness spreading in a slow heat between her thighs. She refused to shift her posture to ease it. She refused to touch herself. She just let her body do what it would and kept her mind on the job.

“Harder!” Melinda barked, the order cracking across the square like a shot. “Make her suffer as much as your King did!”

The men redoubled their efforts, a collective groan of exertion rising from the pile.

“Pwah! Sorry sweetie! Looks like this cat ain’t calling it quits yet~”

Agatha was trying to “control the narrative”, May’s response was to pack them in.

She shoved men into every gap she could manage. It stopped being an orgy and became a human crush, shoulder to shoulder bodies and hungry hips, men pressed in close enough that even the ones not inside Agatha were still rubbing against her, smearing sweat across her thighs, bumping their cocks against her tits and belly and ass.

Her mouth stayed busy, because May made sure it did.

A cock slapped her lips. Wet smack. Again. Then it shoved in, stretching her jaw wide. Agatha’s eyes watered, her throat worked, and drool spilled down her chin in shining ropes. When the man started thrusting, she tried to hum something smug, tried to make it sound like approval.

One man had grabbed the left breast. He’d pulled, stretching the expansive flesh out to the side until the breast looked like a pendulous torpedo. He’d latched his mouth onto the end, sucking violently, his cheeks hollowing as his hands groped and squeezed the doughy mass, as if trying to draw milk from the witch.

The right breast was claimed by a frenzied man in a pirate costume. He hugged the massive mound of fat like a lover, wrapping his legs around Agatha’s side and monkey-humping the tit. He drove his hard dick into the soft, yielding cleavage, grunting like an animal as he fucked the breast tissue itself.

Another man knelt in front of her, hands tangled in her wild hair, biceps flexing as he pulled her head forward and back in a rough rhythm, turning her mouth into a wet, **** piston. A third had one hand locked around her shoulder for balance as he used whatever patch of exposed flesh he could find to grind against, glazing her skin with precum.

Two men at Agatha’s three and nine o'clock had each claimed a hand, guiding her arms up and out so she was held almost spread-eagled on all fours. They used her fists like warm, tight sleeves, hips working, shoulders bunched, driving their erections through her grip.

A S.W.O.R.D. tactical officer, stripped of everything but a mask and tricorn hat, was the one currently fucking her pussy. He had one arm under her thigh, hiking it up and twisting her hips sideways while everyone else’s grips kept her steady as his pelvis slapped into her crotch. The impacts rippled through her gargantuan, heart-shaped butt. Those massive cheeks wobbled and bounced in slow, heavy waves, jiggling even as another man humped them.

“You,” she called out and flicked the whip toward a guy who was already red in the face, jerking hard. “If you’re going to cum without touching her, you aim at her tits. Don’t waste it on the ground”

He nodded like he’d been granted a holy task.

He stepped forward just enough, and when his orgasm hit, his cock jerked and spat across Agatha’s right breast, white streaking over the soft heavy mound. The cum clung and slid, disappearing into the undercurve where tit-meat met belly.

The man in her mouth finished, thrusting deep, groaning, hips stuttering as he unloaded down her throat. Agatha gagged and swallowed, eyes watering, hand patting his thigh like she was praising him for feeding her. When he pulled out, cum strung from her lips, and she deliberately let it dribble down her chin like a decoration.

Behind her, hands were all over her ass, spreading those huge plush cheeks, trying to find purchase. The guy was ambitious, trying to get to her asshole with a hard, eager six inches. He shoved and angled and cursed under his breath as the enormous fleshy buttcheeks swallowed his effort. He couldn’t reach. Couldn’t breach. All he could do was rub his cock through soft ass-crack.

May clocked it instantly, appreciating the initiative but recognizing the futility given the size of his tool

“Not you,” May called out, “You’re not equipped for that job.”

The man flushed, jaw tightening, frustration written all over his sweat-slick face, but he backed off at once. Nobody wanted to test boundaries when the King had put her in charge.

May’s eyes swept the edge of the ring, already looking for what she needed next. She wasn’t thinking in terms of just cocks and holes. She was thinking in roles and pressure and how best to wring this scene dry of any illusion that Agatha was the one holding the cards. Every man was a piece on the board, every body a vector. Her job was simple: keep the energy moving, keep the focus brutal and undeniable, and make sure that when the King looked back on this, he saw one thing above all.

That she had done exactly what he asked.

May’s eyes swept the spectating crowd, already looking for what she needed next. She found an eighteen or nineteen year old hiding a very obvious piece of equipment behind sweatpants, and irritation snapped clean and bright through her focus.

A quarterback type stood bottomless, naked from the waist down, cock bobbing in the open like he wanted everyone to see it. Six inches, average thickness, the kind of dick that had gotten plenty of opportunities because it belonged to a man who expected the world to accommodate him. His abs were tight, his shoulders broad, and he wore the smug ease of someone who had always been chosen.

The head-cheerleader type was right up against him, ponytail swinging as she leaned into his mouth. She was making out with him greedily, hands on his chest, then sliding down, fingers wrapping around his shaft. She jerked him with smooth confidence while they kissed, using the handjob like punctuation. Stroke, stroke, kiss harder. Stroke, stroke, breathy little giggle against his lips. It was performative and real at the same time, a couple showing off while they watched Agatha get used.

And beside them, half a step back like a shadow that didn’t want to be noticed, stood the third.

Nerdy. White. Overweight. A blond fro. Glasses. Gray sweatpants. And the dickprint.

It was so obvious it made May’s jaw tighten. Her call for big dicks had been clear. And yet he had hung back. That irritated her more than it should have. Not because she cared about his nerves, but because she had given an order. A man with a cock like that pretending he hadn’t heard her was either stupid or avoiding something.

Her eyes flicked to the couple beside him and the reason clicked into place. A disgusted look back at him from the handsome quarterback, a possessive hand squeezing his girlfriend’s ass. A closeness between the nerd and cheerleader that smelled like long-term friendzone where she’d spent years crying on his shoulder about guys exactly like the one she was jerking off.

There was an antagonism there. A history. A dynamic.

May walked straight at him and bodies parted for her without thinking. The whip in her hand helped. So did the look on her face.

She stopped close enough that he had to look up at her. He did. His eyes were wide behind lenses, cheeks flushed, throat bobbing as he swallowed. His cock pushed harder against the cloth like it recognized her authority and decided to salute.

May tilted her chin down at the tent in his sweatpants.

“You heard me call,” she said, voice flat.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

May’s irritation sharpened.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He blinked, startled by the simplicity. “K-Kevin.”

May didn’t bother giving him a speech. The stammer had already told her what she needed. Further conversation was pointless.

Her hand went to Kevin’s waistband and yanked his sweatpants down without warning, past hips and doughy ass in one ruthless motion, fabric snagging for a heartbeat on the rigid column straining inside it and then sliding free.

She wrapped her fist around his shaft and pumped once, firm and deliberate, not teasing.

Eight inches, she judged immediately.

Not particularly huge when you’d been in the presence of the King’s mammoth cock, but certainly bigger than every grown man currently grinding and thrusting in her exercise. Bigger than the quarterback’s smug six. Bigger than the frantic average cocks disappearing into Agatha’s mouth and fists. Thick enough to matter. Long enough to reach what that eager six-inch straggler had been failing to reach past those massive plush buttcheeks.

Kevin made a choked sound. His hips jerked forward, involuntary. His cock throbbed in May’s grip like it had been waiting for someone to finally acknowledge it.

May’s thumb slid over the underside of the head, feeling the ridge, the slickness, the way the tip pulsed and leaked. She pumped him again, slower, firmer, watching his face.

His eyes were wide behind his glasses. His cheeks were burning red. His mouth hung open like he was trying not to moan.

Too responsive, May noted. Too sensitive. Too hard too fast. He wasn’t a man used to being touched. He was a boy whose body was about to betray him the moment he got used.

Virgin.

The conclusion snapped into place with the same certainty she used to read a room for threats. She tightened her grip at the base for a beat, trapping the blood there, and watched his cock swell a shade more, thickening, looking even more bloated and urgent in her hand.

May leaned in just enough that only he heard her.

“Kevin. You’re going to be useful,” she said. “But you’re not going to ruin this by cumming early.”

Kevin nodded fast, breath stuttering, cock twitching in her fist like it was trying to answer yes.

Behind them the square stayed loud and wet. Agatha gagged. Men grunted. Someone came and shouted. The King’s distant rhythm still pulsed from somewhere nearby, a steady reminder of what real size looked like, what real authority felt like.

She turned her head toward the cheerleader, ponytail swinging as she stroked her boyfriend.

“You,” May snapped.

The cheerleader froze mid-stroke, lips parting. “Me?”

“Ponytail tie,” May said. “Now.”

The cheerleader’s eyes widened. Then at May’s narrowed eyes she jumped and pulled the elastic off her hair anyway, ponytail loosening and spilling down her back. She held the tie out and May took it without thanks.

She kept her grip on Kevin’s cock with one hand and looped the elastic around the base with the other, once, then twice, tight enough to bite in. The constriction immediately changed him. The shaft looked more swollen, more bloated with trapped blood, veins standing up harder. The head darkened a shade, heavier, meaner. Kevin gasped and rocked his hips forward like his body wanted to chase the pressure.

“You’re coming with me,” she said, and kept her grip right where the tie sat, fingers firm around the swollen base. “You don’t have to do anything. You’re the base. You’re the anvil she gets fucked on. That’s it. Lie there and stay hard.”

She dragged him back to the gangbang where Agatha’s mouth was still getting stuffed. Her massive tits still bounced and sloshed as hands yanked and milked them and men grinded against them. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, slick with sweat and spit.

She had him lie down on his back and then turned to the mass of thrusting men and cracked her whip above them.

“Listen up!” she shouted, voice cutting through moans and when enough of them turned to look, she ordered, “Move it and get her ass on that cock. Now.”

They tried to comply and proved immediately why May had to run this. They grabbed Agatha’s hips wrong, yanked without leverage, got distracted by her tits bouncing in their faces. One hand slid down to grope. Another man got greedy and tried to shove his cock into her mouth again, throwing the angle off.

“Aww, finally found me a big boy but your goons can’t get a grip!” Agatha taunted.

“I got her, ma’am,” came Mac’s deep voice.

May’s attention snapped to him automatically.

Her SHIELD teammate was already moving, and of course he was. He’d been the one actually in her at the moment, taking the front slot like a pro while the rest of the idiots crowded and pawed. Now he stepped in where they fumbled, naked and solid, all muscle and dark skin gleaming with sweat, his erection standing out from his body with calm, unhurried purpose.

“Oh~ I’ve had dreams like this, ya know~” Agatha purred.

Mac slid his hands under Agatha’s hips and lower back in a smooth, practiced scoop, letting the men who had been yanking at her step away or re-grip on her shoulders and thighs. The witch’s grotesquely lush body rose, tits swinging, and cape hanging down. He stepped over and straddled Kevin, planted his feet, then took a deeper grip on the witch’s ass. His big hands sank into the plush, heart-shaped mass, spreading those cheeks until the crack opened like a glossy target. He squatted, thighs tight, back straight, lowering her in a controlled way.

As he did that, May dropped into a crouch beside Kevin’s hip. Her hand slid to the tied base, holding Kevin’s cock upright and steady. Thumb under the fat crown, fingers snug at the elastic, she aligned him like a sight post.

“Do. NOT. Cum.” She reiterated to Kevin, earning a whimpering nod as he tried to hold back even from this level of contact.

Ever the good cop, Mac’s voice cooed in from above as he got into position, “Don’t worry, Ringer. May might seem scary, and she is, but she’s also not gonna hurt a civilian for no reason.”

“He’s a member of the Phoenix Kingdom, Mac,” She hissed back in annoyance, “He has to be held by a higher level of-”

“Drama in the ranks! Will the lovely Agatha be able to escape while this schism forms a rift between these two?” Agatha made no motion to move as she was lowered towards Kevin, “Oh darn! Guess she’s just gonna have to have her ass split in two!”

Mac’s squat brought him down and brought his genitals into May’s line of sight. With less than a foot between his crotch and her face she couldn’t help but take an appraising look.

She’d known him for years. Seen him bleed, seen him grin through broken ribs, seen him carry civilians like they weighed nothing. She’d trusted his back in corridors that smelled like smoke and fear. She’d heard Yo-Yo’s smug, tipsy girl-talk too.

That Mac definitely had a BBC and laid pipe like a machine.

May had even technically seen it recently, during Wanda’s perverted broadcast in that hypno-show episode that had turned half the town into background porn extras. Mac had been some kind of “cuckoo clock” in the bit, squawking his arousal, while a slap-happy Daisy had helpfully popped his cock out like it was a prop. Grainy black and white. A second of it. Side characters. Not really him. Not really anything.

Not like this.

This was close enough to smell him. Close enough to see another man’s semen shining on his dick thanks to the sloppy seconds he’d been churning in Agatha’s cunt mere moments ago. Close enough to see the cock itself, still excited and angled forward from his pelvis as he squatted, balls hanging down.

Seven inches, May appraised automatically. Smooth shaft, dark skin with a vivid pink cockhead that looked almost glossy in the light. There was a small white birthmark on one side, irregular like a paint smear. His scrotum was wrinkled brown and surprisingly ordinary in size with coarse hair at his crotch that made him look more real than any of the white guys crowding the scene.

It still did not seem entirely fair that the trembling, socially sidelined Kevin under her hand had been handed more length and girth than her rock steady teammate. Eight fat inches in her grip versus Mac’s seven sticking out between his thighs. Life did not hand out hardware according to merit. May had learned that a long time ago. The world was unfair. You just used what you had the best you could.

Mac lowered her carefully and May held Kevin’s dick steady. Mac’s hands sank deeper into Agatha’s massive ass. He spread the plush heart-shaped cheeks with calm ****, thumbs digging in until the crack opened to reveal that the Agatha’s rectum was every bit as enhanced as the rest of her absurd body: a large puffy vividly pink rosette that stood out starkly from her pale white cheeks. The witch herself had something to say because of course she did as she reclined in the surrounding males’ grips as if she were a goddess on a palanquin, “Oh sweetheart, this is adorable. Dragging out your biggest little weapon like it’s going to… what, humble me? Break me?” She clicked her tongue, as if disappointed in their imagination. “You should have asked. I could have written you a better script.”

May ignored her, focused on her task. She adjusted Kevin’s cock a fraction, aligning the blunt cockhead to the center of that gaping, juicy pink target. She could feel Kevin tremble under her palm, could feel the throb of his pulse through the tie, the trapped blood making him overfull and angry. Precum slicked her knuckles.

Agatha’s rim descended. Her asshole flexed, tight ring shining wet, and the first contact made Kevin jerk. The cockhead kissed her hole, pressed, and May clamped down at the base to keep him from bucking.

“Keep breathing, Ringer,” Mac once again gave a reassuring tone to Kevin, “I’m sure Mark will reward you if you have this bitch groaning in pain from your big white meat.”

Mac’s balls swung slightly as he squatted deeper. His cock stayed pointed forward, hard and ready, hovering in the air like a second tool waiting its turn.

Agatha’s body gave with a wet, obscene little pop. Her asshole stretched around the head, then swallowed the next inch as Mac kept her cheeks spread and May kept Kevin steady. Heat closed around him. Kevin made a strangled sound that was half awe, half pain, half relief that his body had finally been allowed to do what it wanted.

Mac lowered Agatha the rest of the way until her huge ass fully seated on Kevin’s cock. The doubled hair-tie pressed to her stretched rim, keeping Kevin fat and trapped inside her, an anvil that couldn’t jump the track. Agatha tried to coo something clever but a man at her mouth thrust in deep and stole it. Agatha gagged, eyes watering, then hummed like she was proud of it, one hand stroking his thigh as if she was congratulating him for bullying her throat.

May looked to Mac, “Get in there. DP and a mating press. You're driving.”

Mac didn’t waste time answering. He just nodded once, the way he did when she handed him a job in the field, and shifted his grip from “support” to “control.”

“Copy that.” he said, voice low. “Let’s fuck this slut up, Ringer.”

He kept Agatha’s ass spread with one hand, thumbs still prying that swollen pink asshole open around Kevin’s trapped eight, and reached forward with the other to take Agatha’s hips. The witch’s body was held up by a dozen hands, but Mac made the center of gravity belong to him. He squatted deeper, then rocked his weight forward in a single smooth motion that folded Agatha into a filthy mating press, knees shoved up near her shoulders, pussy opened into a wet gaping target.

Agatha tried to laugh like she was still narrating her own victory.

Then he drove in, hands gripping her shoulders for leverage, powerful black glutes flexing as he turned his hips into an engine and ignored the chaos of other dicks pressing in around them.

Her laugh came out as a wet, broken sound because the man at her mouth shoved in again and stole the air from her lungs. Her jaw opened wide. Her throat flexed. Drool shone on her chin and dripped to her chest, tracing slow lines through sweat and stray smears of semen.

May stood up and stepped back but remained close at hand watching.

Mac didn’t thrust wildly. He set a rhythm.

His hands locked to her hips, and he started using his legs like pistons, squatting and rising in controlled strokes. Each time he sank, his pelvis slapped wetly into her crotch, a heavy, obscene sound that cut through the general noise like a drumbeat. Each time he rose, Agatha’s ass bounced on Kevin’s cock below, squeezing that tied base, the hair-tie keeping the white shaft fat and trapped so it could not soften or cum.

Kevin’s entire body shook with it. He was just the base, just the stand, but every downward impact turned Agatha’s ass into a vise around him.

Agatha’s tits were chaos above them. Those huge, pendulous mounds swung and slapped against hands, against forearms, against the mask of a man who had latched to a nipple and sucked like it was a task. Her hands were once again made into onaholes around thrusting dicks, men were rubbing against every part of her fleshy form they could reach.

May snapped her whip once, sharp overhead.

“Rotate when you cum,” she barked. “If you’re not inside her, you aim your load at her. Face, tits, hair. Don’t waste it.”

A chorus of yes, yes, ma’am came back, messy and breathless.

Mac kept driving.

His thick black shaft slid in and out of Agatha’s pussy with steady authority, the pink head disappearing into her every time he sank and reappearing slick every time he rose. The motion made the two penetrations talk to each other. When Mac went deep, Agatha’s ass clenched down harder on Kevin. When Agatha rocked on Kevin, her pussy squeezed Mac tighter. The witch’s whole lower body became a single engine of pressure and friction, two cocks grinding within an inch of each other through a thin wall of flesh.

Agatha’s eyes rolled back. Her face went shiny with spit and tears. She tried to laugh again and only gagged, the cock in her mouth bullying the sound into her throat.

Mac’s breathing changed. It got heavier. More deliberate. The controlled squat gained a fraction of speed, not frantic, just more intent. His glutes flexed with every drop. His thighs corded. He gripped Agatha’s hips like handles and used her like a weight he could move all day.

May’s stomach tightened with the same dry appreciation she’d had for years.

Dependable.

Yo-Yo’s smug girl-talk had not been exaggeration.

It was a good ten minutes before Mac leaned down and spoke into Agatha’s ear, voice low enough it was almost lost under the wet slap.

“Take my fucking load, you nasty bitch.”

Agatha tried to answer with something clever. All that came out was a choked hum around the cock in her mouth.

Mac drove in deep and held there.

His cock pulsed, thick and hard, and he came inside her with a controlled, powerful release that made his whole body tense. Agatha’s pussy clamped hard around him like she was trying to milk every drop. Her huge tits bounced with the **** of her shudder. The men around her groaned like the gangbang had been given permission to unravel.

Mac stayed buried a beat longer, then slowly pulled back.

Thick cum immediately started to spill out of Agatha’s pussy, white and heavy, sliding down her inner thigh. Gravity did the rest. The slick mess dripped and fell straight onto Kevin beneath, sliding over the base of his still-hard cock and onto his balls. The contrast was obscene: mature black man finishing and flooding, then the creamy proof of it coating the bigger white shaft that was still trapped inside her ass, still forbidden to shoot because May had cinched him down with that ponytail tie.

Kevin made a thin, broken sound. His hips tried to buck.

Kevin’s whole face twisted with strain, but he held. His cock throbbed like a live thing, the cum splashing onto him making him twitch even harder, but the tie kept him bloated and trapped, the edge of orgasm held right there under the skin.

Mac shifted his stance, still straddling Kevin, pulling out fully now. His cock glistened, slick and shining in the air, and he gave May a quick look. Not asking permission. Checking in.

May nodded once.

“Good work,” she said, and meant it. “Now go keep an eye on the king.”

The vacancy at Agatha’s pussy got noticed instantly.

Two men surged into it at the same time, both hard, both convinced they were next. They collided at Agatha’s hips, shoulders grinding, hands shoving, cocks bobbing between them as they tried to wedge their way in.

“Back,” she ordered, voice flat.

They didn’t hear her. Lust had made them stupid.

So she snapped the whip.

The crack was sharp enough to make heads jerk toward her like she’d fired a weapon. Both men flinched hard, stepping back on instinct, cocks bouncing uselessly as she directed another more patient and obedient man forward.

Agatha kept getting used while the crowd re-formed at May’s orders. Her mouth opened, took cock, gagged, swallowed. Her tits were pulled, sucked, humped. Her pussy clenched and dripped, still sloppy with Mac’s addition to the semen inside. Her ass stayed stretched around Kevin’s trapped shaft, the ponytail tie holding him in an agonizing, permanent readiness.

Then the atmosphere shifted.

It wasn't a sound. The wet slapping of flesh and the groans of the men behind her didn't stop, but to Melinda May, they suddenly sounded miles away. The air pressure dropped. The hairs on her arms stood up, not from cold, but from a static charge of pure biological reverence.

The King was close.

May turned, abandoning the management of the witch without a second thought. The discipline that had kept her eyes on the mission now snapped her attention to the only thing that actually mattered. She brought her heels together, her back straightening, her nipples hardening under the sudden, heavy weight of his gaze.

Mark was there.

He looked like a god who had just feasted. His skin was flushed from recent sexual exertion, his hair messy where America had gripped it. He stepped into May’s personal space, claiming the air she breathed.

A quick glance behind him revealed his thralls taking a break to clean each other of his cum, obviously through eager licks and moaning smooches.

He didn’t say anything as he looked her up and down before reaching around and grabbing her ass. She felt the weight of his touch between her legs. Her clit pulsed in its hood, swollen and insistent.

He pulled her in, and May went. The Cavalry, the woman who made monsters flinch, melted. Her lips parted before he even leaned down, and when his mouth crashed onto hers, she made a needy, **** sound in her throat, her hands clutching at his biceps to anchor herself against the sudden vertigo of his presence.

For a heartbeat, the kiss threatened to erase everything else.

It didn’t.

Melinda May had spent her life building compartments strong enough to hold the impossible. The woman who carried Bahrain in her bones and still walked into the next fight. The agent who survived Hydra rotting SHIELD from the inside and kept moving anyway. The one who could read a room in half a second, who could put a target down without drama, who could sit in silence for hours if the mission demanded it. The Cavalry, not because she was loud, but because when things went bad, she arrived and the bad things stopped.

She was herself.

She just also knew, quietly, that she was his.

It sat underneath everything the way training does. Not loud. Not hysterical. Just a baseline orientation, a true north that makes the world feel orderly. The King at the center. Everyone else arranged around him.

She kissed him back with a fervor that bordered on ****, her tongue fighting for space, tasting the faint, sweet tang of America and Natasha in his mouth.

Then she felt it.

Heavy. Warm. Wet.

Mark’s cock brushed against her thigh. It was soft now, or at least softer than the granite pillar it had been earlier, but it was still a terrifying, awe-inspiring slab of meat. It dangled heavy and loose, slapping wetly against her hip with a weight that defied physics. It was glazed in fluids, slick with pussy juice, sticky with saliva, smelling of sex and conquest.

And it was enormous.

May’s tactical brain, even dazed by lust, couldn't help but run the comparison. She had just handled Kevin’s eight-inch virgin spike. She had watched Mac’s thick seven-inch tool ream the witch. Those were weapons. They were respectable.

But this? This soft, semi-flaccid hose resting against her leg was bigger than both of them combined. It was a python. A bludgeon. Even drained, it had a girth that made her breath hitch, a sheer volume of flesh that made Kevin’s "big dick" look like a toy. It was ridiculous. It was monstrous. It was perfect.

He broke the kiss first.

Not by much. Just enough to breathe, enough to lean back a fraction and look at her properly. May held his gaze, chest rising and falling, trying not to notice the way that ridiculous cock dragged wetly along her hip when he shifted.

A slow grin crept across his face.

His hand drifted up, sliding over her ribs, his palm hot and rough against her skin. He weighed her breast in his hand, his thumb brushing the silver ring the Hex had **** through her nipple.

“I like your style, Melinda. Barking orders, cracking the whip… But-” Mark’s expression shifted to disappointment as he squeezed her compact tit, “Your boobs are too small.”

A day ago, she would have argued. She would have catalogued the benefits of her athletic build.

He’s right, she realized with a spike of genuine, professional shame.

Why hadn’t she seen it before? She wasn’t vain; she didn’t care about looking pretty for men. But she cared about effectiveness. And standing there, nude before the King’s massive, semi-soft cock, the logistical failure of her anatomy was glaring.

'I should have gotten them done years ago.,' she thought, her mind racing through the missed opportunities. Massive implants. Heavy silicone. The kind that walk into a room five seconds before I do.

It made perfect sense. Men were stupid. Targets were biological. If she had dragged around a pair of double-Fs, no mercenary or Hydra agent would have ever looked at her hands. They would have stared at her chest, drooling and underestimated her, right up until she crushed their windpipe. It would have been the ultimate camouflage.

And more importantly there was the matter of the King’s equipment.

She glanced down at the thick, battering ram of a penis swaying against her thigh. It was a weapon of mass pussy destruction. How was she supposed to service that with her current loadout? B-cups couldn’t contain that girth. She needed volume. She needed deep, suffocating cleavage that could swallow that python whole, soft pillows of flesh that could cushion the impact when he decided to fuck her chest. By keeping her breasts small, she had selfishly deprived him of an asset.

His thumb brushed the ring in her nipple, giving it a small, testing flick.

“I do like these, though. They look good on you.”

She had been planning to remove them, not exactly appreciating the involuntary additions once the fake persona foisted on her by the Hex had faded. That notion went up in smoke with his comment, replaced with the idea of getting more.

“Thank you, sir.” she told him, not sure of the etiquette around addressing him but intuiting he didn’t much care.

Maximoff appeared then, a wall of soft, impossible curves pressing in from the left.

Wanda was naked, flushed, hair wild around her shoulders, and the sheer size of her chest meant one heavy breast inevitably eased in between them, pillowing against Mark’s ribs and the side of May’s own smaller one. It pinned May there for a moment, caught between sculpted muscle and ridiculous, magical softness. She looked satisfied and a little loopy, the way a woman looks when she’s been fucked good and hard to a lot of orgasms.

“My love,” Wanda murmured, voice still a little hoarse from some rather epic deep-throating earlier, as she leaned up to kiss his jaw. “You hold the power of knowledge of what Thanos stole from us. No matter the thought in your head, I will alter the world to reflect your whims. If you believe this woman’s breasts need to be bigger then I will stretch reality to reflect that. So, would you like me to fix her for you?”

“...hm?” asked Mark, clearly distracted by the bands around Agent May’s wrists and not fully hearing what Wanda was whispering, “Oh, uh… sorry. I was just thinking about… something stupid…”

Wanda grabbed his face and turned it to her own, “Please share it with me, Mark. I love you and want you to see me as your confidant. Please?”

He looked conflicted but shrugged in acceptance, “It’s just… there was this video game I loved to play, Street Fighter?”

“A video game?”

“As I said, it was stupid…”

“No! God no. Mark, I just enslaved a town through the memories of television shows we used to watch in Sokovia. I have no place to judge you, even if I did think it was stupid-which I do not.” she said sternly, “What brought forth this memory?”

Mark gave her a half smile, “These bands Melinda’s wearing,” he said, showing off the studded black leather around her wrists, “They reminded me of Chun-Li, who was this hot asian cop lady from the game. Spent a lot of youthful days dreaming about those thunder thighs of hers. Then I got to thinking how much Melinda kinda looks like a live action Chun-Li, then I thought about this old movie with Kylie Minogue…”

“Sounds like a memory of something Thanos has taken, let me take a look, honey.” and Wanda lifted a hand and scarlet energy threaded the space between it and the King’s temples for a few moments.

“Okay,” she murmured affectionately. “This is a good one.”

Wanda’s hands came up, hovering an inch from May’s face, like she was framing a portrait. May stayed still and kept her shoulders square, her feet planted. She kept her peripheral attention on the gangbang, because Agatha was still a potential threat, and threats got contained.

A wave of scarlet overtook May’s vision.

May gasped, her knees buckling slightly as her center of gravity was violently renegotiated. She looked down, eyes wide, as her legs began to swell. It wasn't just size; it was density. The red magic seeped into her muscle fibers, weaving them thicker, tighter, heavier. Her calves bloomed into diamond-hard knots of power. Her thighs exploded outward.

The sensation was dizzying. She felt the skin stretching tight, the muscles cording and bunching as they expanded past human limits into something illustrated and absurd. Her quadriceps ballooned into massive, sweeping curves of rock-hard meat, thick enough to crush a man’s skull like a grape. Her hips flared wide to support the new pillars, the bone structure shifting with a wet pop that felt oddly satisfying.

She was becoming bottom-heavy in the most lethal way possible. A living hydraulic press.

Then, the magic rose.

It cinched her waist, carving out the abdominal muscles into a defined six-pack, narrowing her midsection to exaggerate the terrifying width of her new hips.

May watched as the red mist swirled around her chest. She felt a heavy, pleasurable pressure behind her nipples, a heat that bloomed outward. Her breasts surged forward.

They swelled with a firm, silicone-like resilience, rounding out and pushing forward until they settled at a firm, jiggly set of Double-Ds.

May tested the weight, rolling her shoulders. They were significant. They sat high and proud on her chest, jutting out with aggressive perkiness, the silver nipple rings glinting on the pale peaks.

But the physical rewrite was only half the spell.

As her body settled into its new, impossible proportions of the "Strongest Woman in the World", her mind shattered and reformed.

Wanda poured the archetype straight into May’s soul.

Flash.

She wasn't just an agent anymore. She was Enhanced, practically a superhero on her own.

Martial Arts flooded her synapses, but it wasn't just the usual kind. It was ancient, mystical, and kinetic. She knew how to channel qi. She knew the exact rotational velocity needed to defy gravity upside down. She felt the phantom weight of wrist weights that weren't there. The Kikoken. The Hyakuretsukyaku. Techniques that shouldn't exist in physics slotted into her muscle memory as if she’d been practicing them since birth.

Her hair, caught in the updraft of the magic, twisted and coiled on its own, knotting itself into two tight, iconic ox-horn buns on either side of her head, wrapped in white silk ribbons that materialized from the mist.

The red glow faded.

Melinda May stood on the pavement, breathing heavy, deep breaths that made her new, firm Double-Ds heave with mesmerizing recoil. Her thighs brushed against each other: thick, pillars of muscle that felt capable of snapping a steel beam.

She looked down at her hands. She flexed her fingers, feeling the qi hum under her skin. She looked at her legs, those absurd, beautiful, terrifying legs.

She looked at the King, idly noting she’d grown some inches as she was more level with his eyes while Wanda’s head was lower. The look on his face was one of complete awe and fascination.

"Different center of gravity," she noted, her voice low and calm, analyzing the change like it was a new tactical vest. She rolled her shoulders again, the new double D’s swaying with a heavy, firm weight she immediately calculated into her balance. "But I like the leverage. And the sensitivity…" said May, giving her new chest puppies a light run over.

She felt like she should salute but the boyish glee on the King made her move instead.

It was a blur. One moment she was standing; the next, she had dropped into a deep combat stance, one leg swept back, palms raised. The movement was so fast the air cracked, her massive thighs flexing, her new breasts jiggling firmly but perfectly in sync with the motion. The sheer kinetic energy she radiated blew dust across the square.

"Balance is solid," May murmured, a small, dangerous smirk touching her lips. She shifted her weight, feeling the delicious power coiling in her legs. "I can work with this."

Mark let out a low, appreciative whistle, stepping back to admire the view. “Holy shit, I’ve got my very own Chun-fucking-Li!” The royal cock was twitching, swelling and jerking around as it hardened.

Wanda clapped her hands, delighted at his reaction to her ‘gift’. "The passion for your subjects is so cute, Mark. Oh! And she needs the accessories!"

She flicked her wrist. Spiked, heavy black cuffs materialized around May’s wrists, the metal cold and heavy. White combat boots formed on her feet, hugging her thick calves. Lastly, pantyhose that hugged her waist and turned her thighs orange, an area she knew Mark loved to focus on for the fictional character. In seconds the thin fabric that still clearly showed her aching lips were moistening from Mark’s proximity. Wanda left the top half of her nude, letting that part of the "costume" be nothing but the raw, naked power of her new form.

Mark rushed in and kissed May again, his hands groping every part of her they could reach, and May met him, mouth open, tongue hungry. Her clit throbbed under its hood like a heartbeat. Her cunt felt heavy, wet, ready.

Mark broke the kiss and stepped around behind her.

“Let’s see,” he murmurs, voice low. “Let’s test the goods.”

May didn’t hesitate.

She spread her legs wide and dropped into a deep Kikoken stance, feet planted and hips hiked high, torso angled forward. The position was normally for gathering and directing qi, blasting it forward into a bolt of ****.

This time, she held it for him without summoning the qi.

Mark wasted no time in ripping the pantyhose in two and she barely held back a gasp of sexual excitement. Leaving scraps of the velvety fabric to fall loosely beneath Melinda. “Always wanted to do that,” he hissed proudly.

The angle pitched her new center of gravity forward, causing the massive globes of her transformed ass to bloom outward. These weren't just cheeks; they were twin hemispheres of dense, high-grade muscle wrapped in soft, spankable skin, forming a shelf so wide and deep it looked like it could cushion a tank shell. The valley between them was a deep, heated trench, leading down to the wet, dark pout of her asshole and the glistening, swollen lips of her pussy, which hung lewdly open beneath her, dripping onto the ground between her white boots.

Mark groaned like a man who could barely contain himself.

May felt the blunt, searing heat of his cockhead press against the top of her crack. He grabbed her massive hips, his large hands barely spanning the new curve, and pulled her back onto him.

With a wet shluck, he drove his rock-hard length into her butt cleavage.

He buried himself in the sheer volume of her ass cheeks. The friction was incredible. May gasped as the thick, vein-roped shaft slid smoothly between the plush mounds of muscle, the head popping out just above her tailbone before sliding back down. It was a paizuri of the rear, a fuck-sleeve made of pure gluteal power.

“Jesus, lady,” Mark hissed, grinding his pelvis against her buttocks, his cock sliding in the deep, sweaty valley of her crack. “It’s like gripping a vice. These legs… this ass… it’s swallowing me whole.”

May bit her lip, a surge of professional pride warring with the overwhelming lust.

She flexed her glutes. The massive muscles clamped down on his shaft with terrifying strength, trapping the King’s weapon in a crushing embrace of meat.

Mark groaned, his knees almost buckling from the sheer, crushing pleasure of the squeeze.

“Fuck,” he laughed breathlessly, slapping one of the giant cheeks. “Don’t break it, Chun Li. I still need to use it.”

“Apologies, sir,” she said, quickly unclenching enough for his dick to snap upwards briefly.

“Man, the look is so uncanny,” Mark mumbled, still squeezing at Melinda’s massive mounds while looking over to Wanda. “And you could do this to whoever? Can you make a Lara Croft?! Oh! Or more Street Fighter chicks?!”

“Anything your heart desires, Mark,” smiled Wanda, happy to see him so happy, “But I think I know what needs to be changed first…”

With a snap of her fingers, Mark’s appearance changed. Not physically, but just a couple of clothing items that Wanda had discerned from his favourite fantasy about Chun-Li. He wore a red hat and cape, looking just like the villain of the piece in more ways than one.

Mark Bison chuckled menacingly, “Ah~ Ms. Li. Finally admitting defeat?”

“Never.” Melinda replied sternly, glaring back over her shoulder with as best acting the spy could muster, “I may have lost the fight, but just because you control my body with your shadow power does not mean you’ll ever control my heart.”

May surprised herself by how easily the words came. She had been vaguely aware of the Street Fighter series in the way any agent picked up cultural noise over decades, a title, a character name, a few iconic images. But Wanda’s “look” into Mark’s mind had not just supplied a body template and a set of techniques. It had poured in his relationship with the series: the gamer’s instinctive shorthand, the character dynamics, the rivalries, the tone of the story beats, even the tiny trivia that only lived in someone’s muscle-memory and nostalgia. It felt like someone had quietly installed a full library behind her eyes. Not a sterile wiki, but Mark’s lived, opinionated perspective, which meant when she played the role, she wasn’t guessing at the script. She remembered it, the same way she remembered fieldcraft, and she could improvise in-character without breaking the illusion.

“Hmm. We’ll see about that,” Mark grinned. “Stretch your leg out straight upwards.”

Pretending like she was fighting his power, May started to raise her left leg. She’d never previously been able to do the splits, and certainly not while standing on one leg, but right now she was pulling it off flawlessly. She lightly cupped her thick thigh to present her gushing pussy for Mark, and as the cool air hit her nether regions, the reality of her transformation became undeniable.

Her pussy was bigger.

Not grotesque. Not cartoonish. Just lewdly developed, more present, more forward. The mound above her slit sat fuller and prouder, and she could feel it as she stood on one foot there. She could feel the weight of it, the life in it. Her clit felt huge beneath its hood, the hood thick and fleshy, like a soft cap built to protect something obscene. The nerves were turned up to an excruciating degree; the simplest shift of her thighs dragged sensation across her slit and sent a bright spark through her belly.

It was the same kind of body Wanda had given herself in her show. The same level of lewd fullness that the King’s Romanoff and Chavez apparently had as a natural consequence of just being from that alternate universe.

May was like that now too. Maybe this is what she used to be before Thanos. Maybe this is the original blueprint and the universe had been running her on a reduced setting.

“Your body is very honest, isn’t it?” Mark Bison chuckled, rubbing his fingers along her slit, “Tell me what you’re feeling, my psycho power commands you to speak the truth.”

Melinda bit at her lip, her body trembling not from strain, but from the electric sensitivity of his touch on her new vagina, “I am… frustrated. You are the man that killed my father, I-I thought your touch would disgust me… but my body only feels pleasure. Your scent is manly, your hands are so strong, and the excitement of feeling your huge p-penis gives…”

“Hehe, damn right, Chunners,” said Mark, clearly loving every second of this. “Bison shall reward this honesty. Here is the cock that you crave!”

“AHH!”

Mark’s entrance into her cunt was truly the peak of Melinda’s life so far.

For all the tactical conditioning and the magical enhancement that had gifted her with thighs as thick as tree trunks, Melinda May was barely surviving the invasion of Mark’s cock. Her pussy, though rewritten to be meatier and deeper to match her heavy, muscular hips, was being stretched to its absolute limit. It wasn’t just a penetration; it was a conquest. Mark’s wrist-thick girth **** her expanded canal open, turning her tight, gripping wetness into a **** sleeve that struggled to accommodate his mutant size.

Every time the King pulled back, dragging his dick’s ridges against her sensitive interior, May’s internal walls spasmed, trying to vacuum-seal around the retreating meat. But he didn't give her reprieve. He slammed back in, his hips crashing against the gargantuan, muscular shelf of her new ass. The impact sent shockwaves through her heavy, powerful legs, making her "Chun-Li" thighs quake uncontrollably as he reclaimed her depth.

The sensation was a white-hot current, arcing from her swollen, prominent clit straight down to the base of her spine. May could feel the massive, mushroom-shaped head of his dick battering past her defenses, hitting a spot deep inside her womb that she swore had been reinforced just for him. It melted her legendary stoicism instantly. The sounds tearing from her throat, ragged, high-pitched whimpers, were alien to the ears of "The Cavalry," proof that her newly widened cunt and powerhouse body were now built solely to serve his pleasure.

Her pussy was stretched beyond what she thought humanly possible. She thought she’d been satisfied with the men in her life before, but this proved that she’d always wanted to handle someone bigger. To be a part of something more than herself. Beyond S.H.I.E.L.D., beyond the chinese police academy (her memories had become a little muddled with Chun-Li’s), but always unknowingly heading towards the Phoenix Kingdom. To where Mark would split her pussy in two, and she’d feel so happy about it.

Thanks to Wanda’s magic, Melinda did not need to worry about feeling pain or discomfort from her King. He could bottom out inside her gushing slit and feel nothing but the nerves inside her exploding with pleasure and joy. She’d experienced **** that was less of an **** on the senses. Just Mark sitting there, twitching inside her, letting her walls chew down lovingly against the intruder as he felt up her aching body, it was bliss.

“Well, Ms. Li? Are you beginning to feel the effects of my… psycho power?”

“Haa… haaa……” she breathlessly replied, feeling too overwhelmed to form proper words in her drooling mouth.

Mark chuckled, “Cute. Let’s see if some action will get that mouth moving!”

Her King was not cruel, but he was ruthless in his sexual prowess. He had wrapped his arms around her, keeping her newly fat thigh pressed tightly against his chest, as he rammed quickly and deeply against her deepest spots. May needed it, she needed his support to stop her shaky legs from giving out from sheer pleasure.

Every slam felt greater than the last. Stirring up her wanton slit with expert precision. May could only hold on and pray she was a good meat sheath for her master’s cock.

This cosplay display was yet another video being filmed by their camera man, and would eventually earn more eyes upon it than even the Street Fighter movie.

“OOHHH!! OOHHH~HHHH!!!”

There were a few agents scattered around the square who were watching Melinda’s fall with utmost interest.

To them, Melinda had been untouchable. A rock, a paragon, the one woman that life would never break. Yet here she was, jumping on Mark’s cock with such slutty shamelessness you could swear she was a different woman. Rarely did she ever even crack a smile at a party, so to hear that cold woman moan wantonly was severely arousing. Both to see that side of May, but also to see how strong their new King was. His sheer masculine studliness to break the unbreakable was incredible to behold.

“Do you yield, Chun-Li?!”

“YES!” She burst out, unable to even pretend she hadn’t instantly lost, “I lose! I-AHN~! I submit to Bison! I will be your love ****, just PLEASE keep FUCKING ME!”

Mark was never one to deny a request like that, especially when he was roleplaying such a dastardly villain.

What he wasn’t expecting was someone to call out against his victory.

“Please! Don’t ruin my Chun-Li!”

The two slowed down only slightly. Looking down to see a Chinese man on his knees, begging. Though the real odd part was the way he looked… translucent?

“What the hell…?” asked Mark, looking over to Wanda who was glaring towards the nearby gangbang.

Agatha was clearly casting magic despite the multiple cocks assaulting her from all angles. She had to dodge a thrusting buttocks to do so, but she was giving a knowing look to Mark as the grovelling man continued. A look that said: “Sensed you lacked a bit of NTR to your story, hm?”

“She’s my girlfriend! I love her!” The translucent man begged, “Chun-Li! At least tell me you love me back!”

“I-I-!” Melinda started, still struggling to fully grasp the situation.

“We spent years as childhood friends! We were going to start a life together! Are you really telling me you’re leaving me, just because he has a bigger dick!?!”

“Soo much bigger…” Melinda purred, melting further into Mark’s embrace, “I could never be with a worm dick like you, ever again…”

Mark smirked. He did always like stealing a girl right in front of their guy. That sense of superiority was a nice bit of ego boost as he thrust deep into his cosplay girl’s snatch, knowing each hump was dragging her further from his ‘love’.

“Show him!” Mark roared, abandoning the last shreds of his restraint. He wasn't just fucking her now; he was driving the point home, slamming his hips against hers with a **** that made the spectral boyfriend flinch.

Melinda didn't just take it; she unravelled.

"Oh god, yes! YES!" she screamed, her head thrown back.

Her breasts bounced with each impact, not the comical, impossible weight Wanda carried, but a firm, athletic Double-D set that sat high and moved like real flesh, heavy enough to sway and jiggle with every slam of his hips. Enough that Mark’s hands kept finding them. Enough that she could feel the tug on her nipple rings when her chest jumped. Enough that she understood, immediately, why he wanted her like this.

Mark kept her upright by sheer **** and leverage, one hand gripping her hip, the other curling up into her hair and pulling just enough to make her arch. He drove into her with that ruthless, practiced rhythm that didn’t waste motion. His cock was so thick it made her whole lower belly bulge every time he buried himself, the pressure pushing outward against her tightened, carved abdomen. She could feel him past the heat and slickness, past the **** stretch, like a heavy piston working inside her.

May’s breath broke into rough, traitorous sounds. Her voice, when it came, didn’t sound like an agent briefing a room. It sounded like a woman getting filled until her thoughts frayed.

The climax hit her like a kinetic strike. It started deep in her expanded womb, a pressurized wave of heat that rolled outward, seizing every muscle in her powerhouse frame. Her toes curled inside her white boots and her pussy convulsed.

It milked him. It squeezed and fluttered in a rapid-fire rhythm, her internal walls rippling against his steel-hard shaft, trying to drag the seed out of him.

"I belong to Bison!" she wailed, her voice cracking, her eyes rolling back as the pleasure crested. "Look at me! Look at me taking a real man's cock! I'm ruined for you! I'm ahn~! RUINED!"

He laughed softly, the sound close to her ear.

“Game Over!” Mark roared, thrusting into her convulsing warmth with a final, brutal possessiveness. “Look at her! Is this your champion? Is this the ‘Strongest Woman in the World’? She’s nothing but a quivering sleeve for my Psycho Power now!”

He glared at the translucent man, his ego swelling as much as his cock.

“You spent a lifetime trying to earn her respect. I took her soul in five minutes just by stretching her out! She doesn’t want a partner, worm. She wants a Boss! And she’s found the final level!”

May tried to keep the face. Tried to keep the calm.

Her cunt ruined it for her.

It clenched again, harder, and she heard herself make a sound that was half sob, half laugh, as if her body had finally found something it could be simple about.

The orgasm didn’t arrive politely.

It surged.

It started as a tight knot behind her clit, then it detonated outward, flooding her pelvis with bright, blinding sensation. Her thighs locked. Her hips jerked. Her pussy spasmed around him in violent pulses, gripping his thick shaft like a fist, trying to milk him, trying to drag a reaction out of him the way she had dragged confessions out of monsters.

May’s mouth fell open. Her eyes rolled back. Her body shook on one leg, the other braced by Mark’s arm, and she came hard enough that she felt it spill, gush and tremble out around him, hot wetness slicking his cock and her own swollen lips, dripping down in messy strings to splash between her boots.

“Fuck,” she choked, the word breaking apart into a ragged moan. “I’m… I’m cumming, sir, I’m cumming…”

Mark held her through it. He didn’t chase his own finish. He enjoyed hers like it was a resource, like it was proof. He kept his cock deep inside her while she convulsed, letting her orgasm squeeze him, letting her walls flutter and clamp and quake.

And he stayed hard.

Ridiculously hard.

She felt it. Even through her own shaking, even as her cunt spasmed itself empty, she felt his cock throb once, twice, heavy with held-back heat. He didn’t spill. He didn’t soften. He just breathed out a low sound of satisfaction and kept her pinned on him, using her like a trophy and a toy at the same time.

May’s knees wanted to fold. Her muscles trembled with aftershocks. Her Double-D breasts heaved and bounced as she tried to inhale, her nipple rings pulling against sensitive flesh.

Mark eased out just enough to make her whimper at the sudden emptiness, then pushed back in slow, deliberately cruel inches, savoring how she clenched at nothing and then clenched at everything when he filled her again.

“You’re tight when you’re broken,” he said, amused. “Good upgrade.”

She managed to glare over her shoulder, still playing the role, still half-drunk on the downloaded script and the very real sensation of living inside it. “I… I’m not broken,” she panted, and then her voice cracked on a helpless little sound when he rolled his hips and ground right into her. “I’m… not…”

“Yes you are,” he said lightly, and then he pulled out in one smooth motion.

May gasped as his cock slid free, the thick head dragging along her swollen lips, leaving her gaping for a second, her cunt glossy and open, twitching as if offended by the loss. Slickness and her own release clung to him in strings. The huge shaft was wet, shining, messy with her juices and the sheen of sweat.

He didn’t give her time to recover. He slapped the heavy length against her lower belly once, then let the cockhead bump her clit, right on the swollen hood, a teasing tap that made her whole body jolt.

She squeaked, an undignified little sound.

Mark laughed again, still hard, still towering, still in control. He leaned in and kissed her once more, quick and claiming. Only uttering three more words before she collapsed to the floor beneath him.

"Bison wins. Perfect."