Mark's Multiversal Travel Log: Stardate: Maybe the end

I really never thought I’d be done in by myself. Out of all the threats, out of all the powerful heroes I’ve corrupted, and all the fears of one of them breaking free… I was never the biggest threat on my mind.

Though deep down I wondered if it was perhaps cosmic karma.

My mind had finally broken free from that horrible sex toy existence and now I had awoken in a- zoo exhibit? A round indoor space that tried to recreate some sort of savannah was all around me. I was laying on the ground but- though it looked picture-perfect, the dirt beneath me wasn't anything of the sort. It was solid and soft, yielding like the sorts of blue mats they laid out for gymnastics. There was a dusting of powdery brown material atop it to add to the illusion as well as a plethora of very realistic but also quite obviously artificial tall golden tinged tufts of grass all around.

The walls were painted sky blue and there were a few very life-like trees around the edges. One quarter opened out onto a balcony and the city beyond. The unique architecture of that skyline informing me I was still in the Wakandan- no, Markandan capital city. A lot closer to downtown than before. Those were skyscrapers out there, beautiful almost organic structures that honestly made New York look dirty and mundane.

There were people in the room around me. About a dozen. All of them were naked.

Some were crouching around a strange looking campfire, a couple were laid out asleep on the spongy ground nearby. There was a man and a woman having sex near one of the curving walls that became a floor to ceiling window for about ten meters of the room’s perimeter. He had a white-haired buzz-cut and looked like a cyborg, his left arm, his shoulder, and a good part of his broad chest and torso were shiny high-tech chrome.

He was taking the very pale woman from behind in a deep gorilla-like squat. On all fours, she was starkly monochromatic, messy short black hair and a black tattooed spot around her left eye contrasting with skin that was literally white as if she’d dunked her entire body in such paint, she was built a brick shit-house, her pendulous tits swinging back and forth even as she slammed her voluptuous hips back to meet his thrusts, those big pillowy plump ass cheeks deforming and rolling around like jello rapidly.

They were going at it like animals, grunting and sweating, with no apparent care for those around them. I'd already been half-hard from waking up and I felt my cock jerk and swing around as still more blood flowed into it at the arousing sight.

I was just as naked as the rest... though... there was something-

I touched my throat and found a thin metal collar wrapped around my neck.

What the hell? Looking around I didn't see any of the others with collars on. They were all buck naked, no accessories.

Except- Now I saw that there was an entrance to the room that I missed before with two black goons who stood out. I spun around to face it even as I got to my feet. For some reason the metal doors were framed by a fake straw hut, like something out of someone's stereotypical idea of an 'African village'. The black men standing to either side of the 'half a hut' built into the wall that served as a frame for the doorway were distinct because they were wearing… something.

It wasn't much. Their massive figures were absolutely bulging with corded muscle and their lengthy flaccid black penises dangled heavily between their legs. The full sweep of their chests and torsos, along with their groins and enormous striated thighs were bare, but there were clearly finely crafted armor-pieces about their wrists and shins, a band across their rock-like abdominals, and absurd shoulder pauldrons. But the piece de resistance was the featureless steel mask and helmet that encased their heads entirely, turning them into anonymous, faceless creatures of pure muscle.

Each bore a wicked looking spear and stood stock still like statues, the only movement I could detect being the steady rise and fall of their chests and the slow sway of their big black cocks in the quiet winds coming in from the open balcony.

Faceless goons? King Me had his own faceless goons?

This is such bullshit. I want goons, dammit.
My momentary bit of levity was dashed as a sudden very important absence struck me and I cast my gaze around wildly even as I strode towards and out onto the large balcony.

The palatial grounds of the palace stretched out below, exquisite green gardens that looked like a jungle tamed, a lazy stream wound amongst stone-paved paths. I could see easily two-dozen or so scantily clad women wandering through the grasses or lounging by a pond-like pool or by one of the many outdoor seating areas that were dotted about the manicured foliage. Some of the women wore colorful robes or elaborate jewelry, many more seemed to be wearing nothing more than skimpy bikinis or little more than sheer fabrics or light cloth wrappings.

There were more guards like those up here, standing in pairs around the grounds. One pair even seemed to be receiving blowjobs from a couple of women as others looked on as if it were mere entertainment.

Still distracted, I only gave them raised eyebrows before I spun back to go inside, noting that there was a beautiful and familiar-looking woman lying naked, sunning herself on a lounge-type chair right next to me but no America!

Dammit! Where was America?!

A feeling of all-encompassing claustrophobia closed in. America was my 'get out of jail free card'. With her I could just teleport to another universe and damn whatever bullshit was going on in this one. Without her I was so totally fucked, not even mentioning this weird collar pressed tight around my neck that I had a disturbing notion that was most likely suppressing my powers, or even worse: other me was draining my power to strengthen his! That seems like something I’d do… Point is, I need my powers if I’m going to get out of here alive. So I took a deep breath and calmed myself down.

I walked back into the room, taking solace from the comforting sensation of my massive penis hanging heavily and swaying back and forth as I moved, the reassuring weight of my nutsack making it obvious to anyone watching that I wasn't nervous at all.

I was more man than any of these people could ever hope to be, and I wasn't afraid of anything.
The thought gave me a little more confidence and I stepped forward with a swagger before calling out to the room, "Hey! Someone mind telling me what the hell is going on around here?"

Faces turned my direction and one of the men at the campfire barked something I couldn't quite catch. There were guffaws of laughter from the men and women gathered around it.

The weird looking couple furiously rutting before the window never even slowed their fucking. One of the men pointed at me, "Shake off the head fog, lad! Come join us round the fire. Everything will sort itself out soon enough."

A black woman with an extravagant fro waved a mechanical right arm and called out, "Ain’t that the truth!! Come join the tribe. Bring that big white dick right over..."

I appreciated her sentiment, noticing yet another cyborg arm though this one looked completely different from the brawny old dude's who was still banging away at the side of the room, it was bronze colored and much more slender, still approximating the shape and sinews of a very athletic woman, it somehow gave off the impression of being decades less advanced than his and yet way beyond anything I was familiar with.

The whole situation felt surreal, like a bad dream where you can't remember how you got there or why you're there or who's there. My brain was having trouble processing things and that hot ass black bitch was giving me a look that promised all sorts of naughty things if I just joined in. It was tempting. So tempting. But I had to figure this other Mark was basically... me, he thought like me because he was me and I knew how I'd deal with another Mark. Make sure he enjoyed every last second even as I took over his every independent action.

I stood there silently as a fair number of the eyes at the campfire looked my way.

Indecision filled me as I tried to suss out just how I was being tricked and lured. How were they getting me to do what they wanted without my realizing it? Had I been manipulated somehow? If so, how?

Would giving in, to orchestrate some orgy with these people be the first step in my own downfall?

There was a sibilant electronic hiss and the doors within the grass-hut slid open revealing two figures and a bright hallway with a golden motif running throughout.

It was a woman and a man. They were both naked. I didn't pay much attention to the man for obvious reasons but I could immediately tell he wasn't a brawny barrel-chested Markandan brute. He was white with a swimmer’s build and brown hair was about all I got before my gaze was captured fully by the absolute minx walking in beside him. She was an absolutely gorgeous red-head that instantly had me thinking about my Jean. Those were some enormous knockers with wide pink nipples standing proud from her chest, they jiggled enticingly as she moved. A perfect hour-glass figure, her amazing legs were the kind of toned, tapering shapes that were made for crossing and uncrossing and sending shivers up a man's spine. Not helped by how she walked like a model, sauntering in with shaking hips and half lidded eyes.

She had a friendly smile on her face as she entered the room, her gaze focusing on me. She winked when our eyes met before turning to the guards, "Oooh! I didn’t know they did a guard change! Look at these fine things!". She draped herself against the unmoving black body, one hand reaching down to take hold of his dangling member.

Alright. I steeled myself. Looked like this was my counterpart’s opening gambit and I vaguely sensed it was going to be a good one, perfectly set to exploit my weaknesses that he was fully aware of because they were his too.

"Mmmm, yummy," the red-head cooed as she licked along the extremely defined edge of the man's pec even as she pumped his penis which was steadily fattening and extending.

Her companion turned to watch her with his hands on his hips, his tone light, "You know, MJ. I just love it when you thank the big lugs that are our fine royal guardsmen but we kind of have an official task here."

"Oh this'll only take a sec, Tiger. These guys have given up everything to serve Mark. They deserve lots of TLC!" She sauntered around him, delivering a smack to his ass before squatting down at the feet of the other guard.

She looked right at me then with a playful grin before she casually lifted the man's cock up and out, revealing his hairless balls. Then she was thrusting her face up between his legs to wrap her mouth around the guy's entire sac, sucking on it loudly.

The guard in his faceless helmet didn't react at all. He might as well have been a statue with a weird dick growing feature as the tender white hand pumped an engorging hardness.

Alright. I fucking loved everything about this. From the casual netorare to the frank and in your face exploitation of well-hung black bodies.

Oh god please tell me there isn’t a Judeo-Christian bearded sky-wizard because if so, I was so going to Hell.

The guard did shift his stance now, spreading his legs even as she kept up a steady stroke on that big cock (big for other people anyway), her perfect model face was now behind him and it was perfectly obvious that she was tossing his salad, heavy hanging white breasts thrusting out and framed by black thighs.

The white guy, who was definitely cut and ripped in a non-bulky body-builder way, turned to look at me, "You know she always says this- 'just be a minute!' and then she comes back to her husband hours later holes gaping, absolutely filthy with royal guard nut-lube..."

Any censure in his words was negated by his relaxed tone and the erection he'd grown since she started messing with the guards.

Her response was to reach over without looking as she worked and flicked the air in front of his penis. He exaggeratedly slumped his shoulders and sighed before smoothly turning and sauntering over to me.

"Well sorry about my super-slut of a wife but- Hi, I'm Peter Parker also known as Spider-Man in some circles. Nice to meetcha! Ah haha... Wow kind a feel like a dinghy next to a battleship here..." He looked down at our respective members as he extended his hand to shake mine.
I took it reflexively, a bit in shock.

THIS was Spider-Man? He was a famous New York superhero and one who kept his identity concealed, and one of the ones that had attacked us back in my universe. I couldn't help but study him closer. He wasn't any celebrity or public person I recognized. Brown hair. Clean-shaven. Probably pretty good-looking. Like I'd noticed before, pretty ripped, his pecs weren't the size of dinner-plates like some of these guys but he had a diamond-cut washboard for a stomach. Maybe an eight inch dick that didn't have much girth. Weirdly he had no pubic hair, nor any hair on his chest for that matter. Maybe it had rubbed off with his weirdly tight costume he wasn’t currently wearing.

"Uh... Hi... Spider-Man…” it really didn’t feel right coming out of my mouth, “Are you the ones going to tell me what's going on here?"

"That's right!" Called out the redhead as she came over, chin shiny with saliva. My eyes were instantly fixed to her melons as they swung and swayed, clapping against each other as she walked towards us.

"Hey there, handsome!" She skipped a handshake and swept right into wrap me in a hug, pressing those soft weighty tits right into me. She was tall, just a couple of inches shorter than me, so my prick slid right up between us to nestle between her breasts. She pulled back a bit and looked down, giggling, "And hello to you too, handsome! I'm Mary Jane Watson but you can call me MJ or actually with a dick like this you can call me whatever you want. Cum-slut or your little fuck-doll. Something fun!"

She stepped back and laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. "So yea. This here, is my husband Pete and we're here to help you get acclimated to your new home."

My new home? Oh I didn't like the sound of that. I could totally see what my counterpart was doing. Exactly what I would do in his shoes: Being held captive here would be a perverted paradise, a gilded cage built perfectly to suit my tastes. Just these two, a superhero and his gorgeous wife had been transformed into a cheating slut and a happy cuckold. A perfect setup for someone with my proclivities.
I could actually sort of see it working, if not for the fact I was pretty sure the bastard was most likely fucking and re-brainwashing MY America right this second!

I mean, that's what I'd be doing anyway…

"My new home? What the hell are you talking about? I accidentally land in this city with my girl and stumble into some weird orgy and then all of a sudden I'm being ****, my mind messed with, poked, prodded, examined like some science experiment. Then I end up naked in this prehistoric zoo exhibit! Why? What the hell? Where is America?!" I went with bluster and acting like I knew less than I did. Probably wouldn't work but it seemed like the place to start.

"Woah there." Spider-Man said with placating hands, "Relax. All of that is standard protocol around here when dealing with superpowered people who just show up unannounced. Kind of a government thing, you know. Markanda has had to beat all sorts of infiltration attempts and what not. I'm sure this will be a temporary stay till everything gets checked out."

MJ's head was cocked to the side and she had an unfocused look in her eyes before she suddenly snapped back to add, "America is just fine. She's relaxing in the harem right now. Eating some grapes and chatting away."

Harem-?!

Peter must have read my thoughts on my face because he was quick to add, "It’s not what you think! The harem is a whole wing of the palace where the king's wives and concubines live with their children. That's the safest place in the entire country and ironically also the place least likely to involve freaky sex hijinx. In Markanda, all that sort of thing takes place pretty much everywhere else." He gestured with a wry smirk at the still loudly copulating pair, the big buzz-cut white-haired brute now had the woman pressed against the glass of the window and was pounding away at her, the sharp claps of their flesh meeting, a constant background noise.

And I could believe as much or as little of that if I wanted but there wasn’t much I could do about it either way. The hell of it was I wouldn’t even be sure about if and when I saw America again. Presumably this other Mark still had his instant-touch based power which I well knew could basically re-write who a person was in just seconds. Worse, he had Jean and who knows how many other telepathic mutants who could fine-tune everything from a distance.

America could come back acting like her old self and yet be a complete double-agent totally loyal to the other Mark on the inside.

Jesus! Just the fact that I was thinking this way meant the other me certainly had it in his head as a possibility. Pulling that kind of trick was right up my alley. Fuck. Jean could be in my head right this second, not only relaying my every thought but changing them at his command.
So essentially he had me over a barrel here and my only play was hoping this other version of me was a team-player.

Welp. Just have to fake it till I make it.

*written in collaboration with Namichwan