Scarlet Wars: Episode 3 (Part 2: Spectral Analysis)

Written predominantly by Cross C

“Keep your head still for me, ma’am,” Webb said. “Couple more passes.”

Monica was really trying not to think about everything that had happened in the Hex right now.

She needed to decompress just for a bit before… dealing.

She would not dwell on being a puppet dancing to Wanda's script, sharing her headspace with a vapid fictional personality that got to drive her body while acting out some bizarre retro TV show crossed with actual hard-core porn that was crushingly embarrassingly being broadcast to all of S.W.O.R.D.

The scanner circled Monica’s head with a slow, thrumming pulse, its blue light strobing faintly through her closed eyelids. The humming was almost soothing, even if the cot underneath her was narrow and hard, the S.W.O.R.D. field med bay thick with the sterile bite of sanitizer and stressed personnel just beyond the curtain.

Staff Sergeant Webb, a wiry woman with severe cheekbones and crisp pixie cut, maneuvered the device expertly. Monica could feel the woman’s impatience. Webb hadn’t smiled once.

Feeling the insistent tug to analyze and over-analyze what had just happened to her, Monica **** her mind to wander in a safer direction.

She found herself picturing Webb’s face as she’d walked in: the thin, sculpted mouth, the quick glance down when Monica first sat up, the way Webb’s crisp camouflage uniform trousers had hugged slim hips. Monica’s thoughts, as they were wont to do, spiraled to the usual: what it would be like if the Air **** NCO were off duty, maybe straddling Monica’s lap, that stern white girl composure melting as Monica pressed her between strong thighs.

Idly, Monica imagined what Webb would look like naked: hips bared, neat thatch above a small, pale pussy. It flashed across her mind with the strange clarity of an electrical overlay, almost as if she could see it, a shimmer of charge in the air beside her, invisible but undeniable, like the ghost of heat lightning on bare skin.

Monica’s brain jumped track. She found herself expanding the fantasy to the rest of the S.W.O.R.D. base: all the women on duty, their groins as bright energy signatures, cunts outlined in her mind’s eye as soft, glowing patterns, tight and slick and pulsing gently, every single one different and inviting. Moving around or stationary like some lewd ant-colony. It was absurd, a horny hallucination brought on by stress, or maybe by the low throb of her own body, the weight of her cock shifting under the thin hospital gown.

She nearly laughed. Stupid. Just her libido running wild, right? Not anything real. She flexed her hips slightly, feeling the faint ache of a half-chub dragging heavy between her legs, pressed up atop her thighs and tenting the thin gown.

There was a pretty tell-tale beep of a completed scan and Monica opened her eyes to see Webb moving the glowing metal ring away from her face.

“So I’m cleared?”

Webb hesitated.

Her gaze flicked down Monica’s body, then back up quickly, like she’d almost glanced somewhere she’d been trying very hard not to look for the last fifteen minutes.

“We still need to scan your-” she started, and stumbled on it. “Scan… down there.”

Monica blinked, then huffed a laugh. “Oh. That. Yeah, no, that part is all me.”

Webb went still.

“The large phallus is all you,” she said flatly.

Monica felt the flush hit her cheeks.

"Yes," she said carefully. "My huge dick is all me."

Webb’s gaze narrowed. Before she could respond, the curtain covering the entrance to the bay rippled.

A new figure slipped in, a young woman in thick-rimmed glasses, her long, wavy brown hair framing her face and sitting on her shoulders. She stopped just inside the curtain line, clutching a tablet, and simply watched, silent. Cute. Total sexy nerd look. Definitely some hefty sweater-meat under a S.W.O.R.D. emblazoned sweatshirt. Another brief flash of an intrusive thought pictured something of a revving engine of a glowing fat-lipped energy pussy behind the crotch of those khakis.

Monica clapped that inappropriate image right out, her attention still glued to the severe NCO in front of her.

“Agent Rambeau,” she said carefully, “I have your file. I have your last S.W.O.R.D. physical. I have your NASA medical. I have your astronaut pre-flight clearance. You were one hundred percent female. No surgeries. No intersex variants. Standard anatomy. No… additions.”

“No.” Monica frowned harder. “That’s not right.”

“And,” Webb continued as if she hadn’t spoke, “we all saw the broadcast feed from inside the anomaly. The episode where you were Geraldine. You did not have a penis.”

Monica’s mouth opened. “I have always-”

Webb cut in, voice level. “You were hypnotized into believing a wine bottle was your… quote… ‘big black cock.’” She said the last three words like she’d rehearsed them and hated every second.

“You mimed stroking it,” Webb continued, utterly unimpressed. “The bottle. Not an actual penis. Then in the next… episode”, she made the word sound like an insult, “with the magic show slash hippie compound, we observed you with a very real, very functional penis. Which you proceeded to put to graphic use. In color. With a laugh track. It wasn’t there. And then it was.”

Monica stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “That’s not… I don’t know what you think you saw, but I’ve had this since puberty. I’ve had sex with plenty of women, thanks.”

The other woman couldn’t help herself. “Define ‘plenty,’” she murmured under her breath.

Two pairs of eyes cut toward her. She lifted her coffee in a tiny salute.

“Hi,” she said. “Darcy Lewis. Astrophysicist. Consultant. Professional TV-watcher of perverted suburbs. Don’t mind me. I’m just here to fill in the second set of paperwork.”

“Second?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s,” huffed Webb, a clear annoyance in her tone, “Two massive peace keeping organisations, both setting up bases practically next door to each other to deal with a rogue Avenger, yet they can’t play nice together. Coulson isn’t backing down while his agents are in the dome, while Hayward won’t back down for anything. Means all of us have to do twice the paperwork, and why Doctor Lewis here has to play for both teams.”

“Two jobs means twice the pay, better than being a broke girl,” Darcy shrugged. “But ignore me, we’re here to talk about that thing between your legs.”

Having had to defend it all her life, Monica frowned at the doctors, “Talk? Or gaslight?”

"You did not have a penis when you walked into the Hex," Webb said. "We watched the footage of Maximoff building her show. We watched her rewrite you. And then we watched you get spat out with that."

She jerked her chin at the lump in Monica’s lap.

Monica clung to the only thing that made sense.

"I remember having one before," she said. Her voice shook, but she pressed on. "I remember girlfriends. I remember fumbling in cars and in college dorms and in apartments and…" She heard her own voice soften. "I remember learning how to use it. That is not something you fake out of nowhere."

Webb exhaled slowly through her nose. "I’m not saying your memories feel fake, ma’am. I’m saying every exam, every scan we’ve got on file says you didn’t have that before Westview. The only thing we can prove is that Maximoff changed your body. Whether she messed with your head to match… that’s above my clearance."

Before Monica could argue, Darcy let out an impatient sound.

"Okay, you know what, this epistemological thing is great and all, but can we maybe just look at it?" she said. "As the resident astrophysicist, I am a big fan of direct observation."

Monica’s eyes went wide as Darcy’s hand went for the hem of her gown.

Part of it was the invasion of privacy.

Most of it was the fact that the lazy half-chub she’d been trying to ignore had swelled into something a lot more obvious. Her dick had crept up from its nine-inch flop into a heavier, straighter weight, close to eleven now, a solid bar of flesh lifting off her balls and tenting the thin cotton.

“Hey!” Monica snapped, “No, seriously-”

Darcy rolled her eyes, undeterred. “Relax, Captain. This is strictly medically necessary ogling.”

“Doctor Lewis,” Webb warned, but there was no real **** behind it. She was watching too.

Darcy was faster than Monica’s embarrassment. She hooked her fingers under the gown and yanked it up in one smooth motion, hauling the fabric to Monica’s waist before Monica could get a proper grip.

Cool air hit her skin.

All three women looked down.

Monica wanted the cot to open up and swallow her.

Her cock jutted out above her upper thigh, not fully hard but well past casual, the head flushed and heavy, every slow pulse lifting it a little off the resting curve of her balls.

Darcy’s jaw dropped.

“Holy freaking shit,” she blurted, voice jumping an octave and Monica’s id imagined a hot, bright knot of energy between Darcy’s thighs, pulsing like a little reactor turning on. “That is… SO big.”

Then Monica really saw it and her brain short-circuited.

The skin was white.

Not light brown, not something that matched her belly or thighs in any way. Pale as if it had been borrowed. Veins faint blue under ivory. Against her deep brown skin it looked like it had been cut off a different person and grafted on.

Her BBC had been bleached!

She goggled.

Monica’s thoughts scrambled. "That is… that is not…"

Webb and Darcy both leaned in slightly, watching her face.

“…right,” Monica finished weakly.

Webb and Darcy watched her like they were waiting for a dam to break. Some fragile moment of clarity where she’d gasp, clutch her head, and say you’re right, what was I thinking, I’ve never had that before in my life.

“So” Webb said quietly, almost gently. “You see it now.”

“I do,” Monica said.

Darcy’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank God, so it’s not ‘Monica versus the Mandela Effect’ hour. I really didn’t want to referee that without more coffee.”

Webb tried to be partially more sympathetic, “I’m sure there’s a physician, or I guess a magician, that could help. Please, don’t-”

Monica dragged her eyes off her own lap and up to them. She swallowed.

“It’s the wrong color,” she said.

There was a beat of silence.

Darcy’s mouth opened, then shut.

Webb’s brows climbed a fraction.

Monica looked back down, took in the surreal contrast again, and snorted, half horrified, half incredulous. “Like, why the hell did she give me a white dick?! Is it because the episode was greyscale? Like, that messed with it when I went through the Hex?”

Darcy made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. “So, you aren’t freaking out about having one, you’re freaking out about the paint job.”

“Of course I am,” Monica snapped. “We already know Wanda can transform people. She changed folks’ clothes, their hair, their houses. I watched a whole town get repainted. She can absolutely screw with melanin. Dunno why she’d Michael Jackson my Johnson, while it’s freaky, it’s not the end of the world.”

She let the gown fall from her own fingers this time, covering the evidence, then pressed her hand flat over it as if anchoring herself.

“What she cannot do,” Monica said, voice tightening, “is change who I am. I was Geraldine in there, but I was still me. I knew I liked women. I knew I was an agent. I knew I was not just the role. I was aware of who I was while she was feeding me canned laughter. I’m me. The part where some file claims I was born with something totally different? That is what I want to interrogate.”

Webb’s mouth flattened into an exhausted line. “Ma’am, with respect, I am so far past my pay grade I can’t even see it in the rearview. I have orders to document what changed. That’s it.” She pushed the scanner arm again, angling it down toward the still present tent. “Whatever you were before, we still need a full image set of what you are now. So if you could just-”

The air changed.

It wasn’t sound at first; it was pressure. A ripple along Monica’s nerves, and her unruly imagination was doing that thing again… like someone had hauled a live transformer right up against the tent.

Then the voice hit.

“HEY, S.W.O.R.D.! IF ANYONE’S POKING MY MONICA, IT SHOULD BE ME.”

Darcy jerked like she’d been shot. Her hands flew to the hem of her sweatshirt, dragging it up to her throat in one panicked motion.

“Shitshitshit-” she hissed. “She’s back already?”

The sweatshirt bunched under her chin. There was nothing under it.

Monica’s brain stalled.

There was just this sudden drop, an epic, big long-titted tit-drop as Darcy’s hefty white sweater-meat came spilling free, the big natural beauties bouncing and swinging all over the place in front of her. No bra to speak of. They were the kind you only saw in vintage porn mags, heavy and wide and hanging down past Darcy’s soft belly button.

“What are you doing?” Monica blurted.

“Not losing my new top.” Darcy muttered, cheeks pink, eyes flicking to the entrance. “You know how expensive that bra was?” In a quieter voice and a wince she added, “And my sweater… literally just bought it on Wednesday…”

Then America Chavez sauntered in and Monica’s stomach did a stupid flip as she was very aware she was hard and wearing JUST this stupid gown.

The first time she’d seen this woman was the split second after Westview spit her out, when America had leaned down, too close and too casual, and then proceeded to babble about stuff that made no sense. That familiarity flashed through Monica’s head as the same woman sashayed into the space, and her eyes drank her in like a man starved.

Outrageous curves. Hips that swallowed the room. Thighs packed into painted-on denim shorts. A waist Monica could probably span with two hands. That tiny crop top losing a battle against a horizontal shelf of brown cleavage. Shoulders square and relaxed. Plush lips that looked permanently kiss-swollen. Hair mussed by wind and speed. She had the body of an exaggerated Latina porn-star, but she didn’t read trashy at all; she read expensive, athletic, unstoppable, like a goddess who enjoyed breaking pelvises.

Monica’s gaze kept sliding lower and her brain committed another betrayal. Her intrusive imagination flared again, loud and bright, forcing her to vividly picture actually having some insane electrical vagina radar. America’s pussy pulsed in her head like a neon signature. Big mound, full lips, a hot, throbbing energy pattern stamped perfectly under those impossibly tight shorts. The denim printed her cleft so clearly that Monica hardly needed imagination, and yet the “glow” made it worse, broadcasting heat and rhythm straight into Monica’s pelvis. It felt obscene to perceive it like that. It felt impossible not to.

Shame flushed through her as she felt her cock finish stiffening, a heavy, insistent weight surging up under the thin gown; she couldn’t stop herself from flexing deep in her groin, the makeshift tent jerking sharply, and America’s eyes flicked straight to the movement, mouth curving into a clearly amused smirk.

Then she looked at Darcy who was still baring her tits to the room.

“There she is,” she said, delighted. “My favorite little science project.” She tilted her head. “Good girl. You remembered.”

Darcy groaned through her teeth. “I remembered that you vaporized my bra, yeah.”

America just grinned wider, eyes dropping unapologetically to the heavy sway of Darcy’s chest, still swinging gently from the initial unveiling.

“Well, yeah,” America said, in the tone of someone explaining basic physics. “There are like, barely any nice sets of jugs in this whole stupid gray universe? It is literally a cosmic crime to hide ’em if you’ve actually got them.”

“You people have the tech. But somehow only porn stars get the good upgrades? Breast surgery should be like going to the damn dentist in this place!”

“I just love those long, low-hanging pretty titties,” she added appreciatively.

Darcy sputtered. “Did you just call my boobs saggy?”

America lifted her hands, palms up, about a foot apart, and made a soft lifting gesture. A little bounce bounce.

Darcy rolled her eyes skyward, grumbling under her breath, but pointedly not looking at Webb or Monica. Her hands, which had been holding the sweatshirt up, dropped. The bulk of her breasts kept the fabric suspended above them, and she then lifted them on to the shelf of her hands and gently slapped them from below.The long, pendulous boobs responded to the gentle slapping from below with a heavy, soft jiggle and a slow, almost sleepy sway.

“There,” she snapped. “Happy now?”

America’s gaze sparkled. "Muy feliz."

“Okay, what the HELL is going on here? What is SHE doing here? Put your shirt back down-”

“Captain, please,” Staff Sergeant Webb interrupted, her voice tight with the specific kind of terror that comes from reading too many classified memos. She didn’t look at the topless astrophysicist; she stared resolutely at her clipboard as if it contained the secrets to survival. “Ms. Chavez has been designated an… Allied Asset.”

“A what?” Monica demanded, looking between the terrified sergeant and the girl who looked like a pin-up model come to life. “Whatever that means, it doesn’t explain why-”

“It means she fell out of the sky yesterday, obsessed with this ‘Mark’ guy,” Darcy supplied helpfully, not moving her hands from her chest, effectively keeping her breasts on display as if it were the most natural posture in the world. “She was super polite about it, too. Right until the perimeter security tried to escort her out.”

Darcy shifted her weight, causing the heavy flesh in her hands to jiggle mesmerizingly.

“Turns out? Not great at taking orders,” Darcy continued with a frantic, irreverent speed. “Also, she flies, she’s bulletproof-we’re talking literal ricochets.”

Webb’s eyes stared forwards a thousand miles, “None of Coulson’s anti-Inhuman tech worked, nor his depowering prison cells. She just… punched her way out.”

“All natural, girls~!” America cheered for herself, flexing her guns before giving them a kiss. Monica’s eyes flickering down to her ‘all-naturals’ for but a second as well.

“Monica, it was terrifying and if you really tick her off, she punches people out of existence.” said Darcy.

“Into different dimensions,” America corrected good-naturedly, her eyes still tracking the lazy sway of Darcy’s cleavage with a satisfied smirk. “There’s a difference. That ‘White Vision’ guy is probably having a great time in a universe made entirely of shrimp. Or acid. It’s a toss-up, really.”

“Right. Dimensions,” Darcy agreed quickly, giving her chest an extra little obedient bounce just to keep the goddess happy. “Anyway, once Hayward realized she was an unstoppable dimension-hopping WMD that just wanted to help, he decided he didn't mind a little constant sexual harassment in the workplace if it meant keeping her on our side. Go figure. Great guy, that Hayward.”

Monica stared at her like the world had tilted sideways.

“No,” she said, and heard the edge in her own voice. That was good. That was familiar. Command voice. “Absolutely not. I don’t care what Hayward signed off on, this is still a S.W.O.R.D. facility and I am still the ranking officer in this room. Ms. Chavez does not get to turn my med bay into a strip club, and you-” she jabbed a finger at Darcy “-can put your shirt back down and file an HR complaint like a normal person."

She pushed herself up on her elbows, shoulders squaring, trying to grab hold of something that felt like control.

That was when it hit. A compact, unfamiliar squeeze low behind the base of her cock, deep in the meat of her scrotum. Not quite pain. Not quite pleasure. A charged, coiling pressure, as if someone had tucked a live battery under her balls and then tapped the terminals with a coin. Heat rippled down the length, not sexual so much as mechanical, a system check that made the skin prickle and the head grow slick.

What the hell.

She kept talking, forcing the words through her teeth. “Asset or not, she does not outrank S.W.O.R.D. command. She doesn’t walk into my space and-”

America didn't even blink. She didn't wait for the sentence to finish. She stepped forward, invading Monica’s personal space with the casual indifference of someone walking through a hologram.

"You know," America said, tilting her head and looking at Monica with a weird mix of predatory hunger and teammate affection. "In my universe, we're friends. You blast things. You're cool."

"Th-then treat me with some re-"

"But seriously," America interrupted, grabbing the front of the hospital gown. "What did this universe do to you?"

With one swift, casual motion, she ripped the gown away as if it were wet tissue paper. It fluttered to the floor in tatters, leaving Monica completely naked under the harsh lights.

America shook her head, staring critically at Monica’s athletic, but modest, chest. "Oh no. The Itty Bitty Titty Dimension strikes again. My Monica? Way more stacked. But hey..." Her eyes dropped to the stark white, thirteen-inch erection standing proudly from Monica’s dark thighs. Her grin widened into something feral and delighted. "...at least you got the upgrade where it counts, Futa Puta."

"Hey!" Monica barked, her hands flying down to cover herself, but America was faster.

America caught Monica’s wrists in one hand, her grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute, like a steel cuff, and moved them aside. With her other hand, she reached down and picked up the penis.

Darcy tried to be brave, but her voice had no bite, “A-America, please! She’s just come out of the-”

“You want an examination, ja?! I’m the dick expert here, so let me work!” growled the lesbian, "God, I miss him," America murmured, ignoring Monica’s sputtered indignation. She lifted the organ, tilting her head to examine the underside of the shaft, checking the urethra and the frenulum with the critical eye of a mechanic inspecting a high-performance engine.

“It really is just like Mark’s,” America said, breathy and eager, flashing Monica a crooked, admiring grin. “Little smaller, sure, but damn! This is the real thing. God, you don’t even know what you’re packing. In my world, I spent years looking for the biggest white cock. Thought about it all the time. Broke open a lot of pants, I’ll be honest. Nothing ever measured up. But Mark, his is the original. The one. And now you’re carrying his legacy. I love it.”

Monica’s face burned as America’s hand lifted her cock, pale against her dark thighs, thick and flushed and totally impossible to ignore. The indignity was matched only by the wave of humiliating, forbidden arousal thrumming from her balls right through her shaft. Her body betrayed her, twitching in America’s grip. She heard Webb muttering under her breath, Darcy gawking, but all Monica could focus on was America’s awed, hungry attention.

America’s voice dropped, almost purring, as she stroked Monica’s shaft with unmistakable appreciation. “You’re into girls, huh? Same. But nothing gets me going like the biggest white cock. When I finally found it… well, let’s just say it changed my whole universe. You, chica, you could change a few more. If Mark were here, I’d have you both spit-roast me all damn day.”

Monica twisted, shoving at America’s shoulder with her freed hand-well, trying to shove.

“Stop-hey! Cut it out!” she snapped, mortified, pushing harder. “You cannot just-this is-! America, let go of me!”

America didn’t so much as sway.

It was like trying to push a granite statue bolted into the earth. Her shoulder didn’t budge, not a millimeter. Monica might as well have been pressing against the side of a battleship.

America didn’t even glance at the hand braced against her. She was too busy admiring the cock like it was an artifact she’d found in a treasure vault.

“Awww,” she cooed, brushing Monica’s attempt aside with an effortless shrug of muscle. “Look at you trying to act in charge. Cute.”

Without warning, America grabbed her hip. With a casual shove that felt like being hit by a forklift, she rolled Monica onto her side, facing away from her.

"Hey!” Monica yelped as she was manhandled, her face pressed into the pillow.

She felt America’s hand reach between her legs from behind, grabbing her heavy scrotum and pulling it forward, out of the way. Then, a cool, strong hand gripped her buttcheek and spread it wide.

"Hmm," America’s voice came from right behind her, sounding slightly disappointed but pragmatic. "No pussy. That's too bad. Mark likes options."

"I am a human being!" Monica muffled into the cot, her face burning. "Not an option!"

"But," America continued, ignoring the protest as she inspected the area. "This hole looks fun, too. Tight."

The worst part was that the sheer, overpowering dominance of the situation was short-circuiting her brain. Despite the humiliation, despite the fear, blood was rushing south with traitorous speed. As she lay on her side, her penis was a raging, fully rigid slab of white marble, throbbing violently, twitching against the sheet beneath her.

She felt the pad of a thumb press firmly against her sphincter, testing the resistance.

"Cute little butt," America decided.

SMACK.

America delivered a stinging slap to Monica’s ass cheek that echoed through the tent like a gunshot.

"DAMMNIT Stop!" Monica cried out.

Before the sting had even registered, America grabbed her shoulder and hauled her back onto her back. Monica lay there, dazed, chest heaving, her legs spread, and that massive white cock standing straight up like a flagpole, testifying to exactly how turned on she was.

"Okay," America said, looking at the erection with a smile that was genuinely warm "Mmm…now come to mama, Big Boy”

And then America leaned down and engulfed the entire thirteen-inch length in one smooth, aggressive motion.

Monica’s back arched off the table, her fingers clawing into the mattress, her toes curling. "Oh my god," she wheezed, eyes rolling back in her head.

It was instantaneous deep throat. No gagging, no hesitation. America took Monica all the way to the root, her nose burying into Monica’s pubic hair.

Monica couldn’t scream. She couldn’t even breathe. Her world had narrowed down to the wet, hot velvet vice that was America Chavez’s throat.

"Hrk- gah! Hah!" Monica’s heels drummed a frantic rhythm against cot. Her hips bucked involuntarily, driven by a primal, electric need to bury herself deeper.

"It’s no use," Darcy said, her voice breathless as she watched the obscene piston-action. She stood to the side, having shrugged off her top entirely, her left hand cupped under the heavy weight of her own breast, idly lifting and dropping it in a hypnotic, rhythmic bounce. With the fingers of her right hand, she was absently flicking the puffy pink nipple of her other breast, "I’ve got a theory. You know Star Trek? The Mirror Universe? Where Spock has a goatee and everyone is evil? Well, she’s not from the Evil Universe. She’s from the Sex Universe."

“Sex Universe.” Webb repeated flatly, her frown deepening with her hand on the scanner’s arm, looking like she wanted America’s head out of the way so she could complete her task and get away.

“Yep. The Horny-verse! Rule 34 incarnate!" Darcy elaborated, talking fast, her hands still working her own flesh unconsciously. "Think about it. In her head, everything that’s good is... well, fucking. Morality is based on orgasm count. Clothing is optional-slash-discouraged. And us? We’re just un-optimized NPCs with bad coding."

“Webb-D-Darcy,” Monica gasped, toes cramping as America swallowed her to the hilt again. “Make her- ngh-”

“I’m an astrophysicist, not a kryptonite dealer,” Darcy blurted, “I’m pretty sure she can bench-press a tank. But you know… Maybe this is like shaking hands for her.”

America suddenly pulled off, the sound loud and wet. A string of saliva connected her lips to the glistening, flared cockhead. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning up at Monica with starry-eyed devotion.

“Handshake?” America laughed, breathless and flushed. “Please. A handshake is boring. This?” She gave the rock-hard, thirteen-inch shaft a playful slap that made it bounce heavily against Monica’s stomach. “This is worship.”

Monica scrambled backward on her elbows, her chest heaving, her face burning with a humiliation so deep it felt like a sunburn. "Ms. Chavez... that is enough," she gasped, trying to summon the voice that commanded attention, the voice that made rookies tremble. "I am... . You will step away from the table immediately."

But her voice lacked steel. It was shaky, thinned by the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

America didn't even pause to consider the order. She dove back in, but this time she didn't just swallow; she went to work on the details.

She swirled her tongue around the swollen, mushroomed ridge of Monica’s fat cock head, tracing every vein and contour with maddening precision. While her mouth worked the sensitive glans, her right hand clamped around the base of the spit-soaked shaft. She began to pump her fist up and down, the friction slick and fast, dragging the loose skin tight over the throbbing meat.

"N-no... stop..." Monica choked out, her head falling back against the pillow. "You can't... fuck..."

This wasn't how it worked. Monica was the one in charge. She was the one with the heavy equipment, the one who made women bite their lips and beg for mercy. She kept her size a secret weapon, unleashed on her terms to leave partners trembling and satisfied while she remained the cool, collected stud.

Now, she was spread eagle under fluorescent lights, her secret **** anatomy exposed to her subordinates, being milked like livestock.

America’s left hand snaked down and cinched Monica’s heavy sack, gathering the loose skin and pulling the testicles tight against Monica’s perineum. It was a possessive, dominant grip that made Monica feel impossibly exposed, reducing her proudest assets to mere handles for America’s amusement.

"Don't... don't grab them like that," Monica groaned, biting her lip until she tasted copper. She tried to shove America’s shoulder, but the girl was immovable. "I said... let go..."

America decided the angle wasn't quite right. Without stopping her oral ****, she shoved under Monica’s left leg. She **** Monica’s thigh up and back, pressing her knee essentially into Monica’s own breast.

Monica gasped, a sharp intake of breath that sounded more like a sob. She felt like a doll. A posable action figure being twisted and contorted to better serve the mouth devouring her cock. She was completely helpless, her physical strength irrelevant against the powerhouse between her legs.

"Ugh- god-my leg-"

The complaint dissolved into a guttural, raw animal noise as America’s left hand released the balls and two fingers quickly popped into her mouth before driving the now saliva-slicked digits right into her asshole.

"AH!" Monica’s back arched violently off the cot. Her eyes went wide, staring unseeing at the ceiling.

She had never let anyone do that. She was the one who did that to them.

The fingers curled, deep and questing, hooking her prostate with terrifying accuracy. The shame was blinding, having her ass invaded in front of Darcy and Webb, but the pleasure was a runaway train. Her body betrayed her completely, her hips grinding back against the fingers, chasing the friction even as her mind screamed in protest.

"No, no, no..." Monica whimpered, shaking her head from side to side, sweat beading on her forehead. "Please... I can't... it's too much..."

At that exact moment, America shifted her oral technique. She pulled back just enough to keep the massive, sensitive glans positioned at the very back of her throat. Then, she began to swallow rapidly. The muscles of her throat rippled, acting like a fluttering vice around the head of Monica’s penis.

"Oh god... fuck!" Monica cried out, her voice cracking. Her hands clawed at the sheets, bunching the fabric in tight fists.

The dam broke with the **** of a tidal wave. The combination of the fingers curling relentlessly inside her ass and the fluttering, vacuum-seal of America’s throat pushed Monica past the point of no return. Her composure didn't just crack; it shattered. Her head whipped back against the pillow, her mouth stretching wide into a shining, toothy, undignified O-face, eyes squeezed shut so tight that stars burst behind her lids. Every muscle in her athletic frame locked up, her back bowing off the cot as the first thick rope of semen rocketed up her shaft.

"Ah-buh-buh-gah! Ohgodohgodohgod! YES! YES! TAKE IT! FUCKING TAKE IT!" Monica babbled like a maniac, her voice pitching up into a delirious, nonsensical keen. She was completely gone, mind wiped clean of rank and protocol, reduced to a shuddering, cumming mess. Her hips hammered wildly against America’s face, driving her white cock as deep as it could possibly go, **** to empty herself into the girl who had broken her.

America didn't flinch; she feasted. As the deluge of thick jizz erupted into her throat, she moaned into the vibration, swallowing with ravenous, gulping hunger. She clamped her hand tighter around the base, milking the convulsing shaft, draining Monica dry with the enthusiasm of a devotee receiving a sacrament. She drank down load after heavy load, her throat working overtime to accommodate the sheer volume, humming happily as Monica screamed and twitched above her, utterly undone.

Like a squirrel she once knew, America’s cheeks were stuffed full with seed. With a turn of her head, she spat all of Monica’s jism she hadn’t swallowed directly on Darcy’s tits like a cobra. The sticky sauce smeared and splattered against that vast creamy chest flesh. Dripping down her sexy body and making Monica twitch at the sight.

“Hey!” Darcy whined, having just been subtly twerking her nipples only to be stopped by the semen, “What… what the hell?” She breathily poked at Monica’s cum.

America playfully stuck her jizz covered tongue out to the girl, “Just helping you out, tits.”

Her smirk turned quickly to frown as an angry and panting Monica grabbed at America’s jacket angrily, “Stop… sexually… harassing… my team!”

While their faces were unnecessarily compact together, America took the chance to whisper to Monica subtly, away from the ears of the other two scientists. “Hey, Futa Puta. You think I want to do this?”

“I-! …wuh?”

“Look at tits again,” said America, gesturing her head over to Darcy once more. Monica’s eyes went wide at the sight of the esteemed scientist she’d just met suddenly overcome by cum brain, focusing fully on Monica’s nut and spreading it wildly around her chest. Groaning softly as she mashed the muck into her more. Lost to the world as she lifted a tit and began licking up her frosting.

She wasn’t the only one. Webb was subtly fingering herself too, a finger in her lips that she was lewdly sucking on without much care or shame.

“The witch…” hissed America, “Odio a esa maldita bruja. They don’t even realise it’s happening to them. I joined yesterday, when they all seemed normal but just a bit more frisky than I’d expect from some government agencies. Something about Mark and that witch’s big orgy changed things out here.”

She walked over to Darcy, reaching into the busty girl’s sweatpants and rubbing along her swollen pussy from behind. “Fuck dude… you’ve got me covered in cummm…”

“Yes, girl. Eat all the cum you like,” cooed America, cupping the non licked tit to reach up and feed the cum drunk Darcy like a mama bird. She returned to whispering to Monica, “The horny magic builds up over time. If someone doesn’t drain these idiots, after an hour they become all base level barbarians. I’m running about fingering as many cunts as my hands can handle.”

Monica was shocked, looking back and forth between the now soothing latina and the still vibrating doctor next to her. “So… you’re doing a public service?”

“Yeah, that’s why I blew you, Futa Puta. Other than that being clearly Mark’s dick,” America smirked for a second before frowning again, “I would have just left all these government fuckers to their dirty work if I didn’t need them. No matter what I try, no matter how hard I punch, I just can’t get into that witch’s domain. I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. would have the stuff, but now if they catch a whiff of Mark’s television show they start fingering themselves silly! I guess Mark related dicks have the same effect, ey Titties?”

Darcy’s eyes were just so laser focused on Monica’s crotch. She was a respected scientist, but her mind was just totally warped the longer she stared at that huge white pole, “That thing would fuck me up so hard…”

“Oh trust, Mark totally changes your insides,” said America.

Feeling herself harden from the attention, Monica gulped, “This… this is my dick…” Monica weakly protested.

“Fuck yeah it is…” Webb hissed, getting bold enough to open up the top few buttons of her BDU top.

The heat of the medical hab was rising. Monica hadn’t had to handle this many eyes on her since that prank where her commanding officers pushed her naked-ass into the olympic volleyball team’s changing room.

“Easy girls, let’s give Monica a break. Come over here and give me a hug.”

Darcy and Webb were surprisingly obedient. Latching onto the amazonian latina on either side. Groaning deeply as her strong hands dove deep into the pants and began fingering them with expert precision. Smushing their faces into her huge chest while Monica watched from her bed.

“Well, I guess I misjudged you…” said Monica, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, “Sorry. And, if it keeps me from turning into some sort of lust zombie, I guess I should thank you for… you know…” she gave a fellatio mime as best she could without trying to be awkward, quickly she changed the subject, “so why are you immune to this?”

“Mark and I are soul mates. His waves of love can’t affect what’s already his.” America practically snapped at Monica.

In another world, Monica may have taken those suspicious words to mean something. Perhaps investigated why this all powerful space latina was so enamoured by one man. But unfortunately, she’d been in the Hex, she’d touched Mark, loved Mark. Though she wasn’t controlled right now, her subliminal thoughts had marked Mark as just a friendly guy with a big dick. Her mind racing with new information to stop and frisk the first piece of inconsistent dialogue that flew her way. Even if she didn’t realise it right now, Monica knew exactly what America meant. “I guess that makes sense. Why hasn’t anyone tried to evacuate? The soldiers who took me in…”

“That was last night before all this crazy shit really kicked in. But yeah, Coulson has managed to resist this whole thing, and while I deal with the ladies, the guys are getting pretty good at getting themselves off. Slap’em in front of a TV, they jerk off within a few minutes, then go right back to work. Barely realising their pants are wet from nut.”

Monica gulped, “A-and only an hour, huh?”

“Probably. Today’s been loco, you know?” America shrugged. Then she noticed where Monica was looking, and how agitated her new tool was looking, “Though maybe someone with a big enough libido needs their nuts drained at least twice, eh?”

Monica was too distracted by watching Darcy and Webb rub their faces against America’s covered tits to respond immediately, both womens’ arms moving and clearly feeling up the latina’s backside, “...hm?”

America grinned, gently taking a hold of the scruff of both women before shoving them towards Monica’s massive endowment. Both women moaned as they instantly started licking up and down her huge white pecker.

“Wh-what are you doing?!”

“Making sure you’re focused for when I need ya,” she continued, hooking her thumbs under the hem of her tight crop top. With a devilish smirk, she hauled the fabric up, and Monica’s breath hitched. America’s thunderous mammaries didn't just appear; they erupted into the open air. Two massive, gravity-defying spheres of rich caramel flesh spilled out, bouncing heavily with the release. They were a stark contrast to the big, low-hanging tits Darcy was currently pressing against Monica’s thigh, which hung down like heavy fat missiles; America’s were impossibly round and perky despite the size. They were capped with dark, puffy areolas and nipples that jutted out aggressively with long, cylindrical tips that looked like fleshy rotary switches begging to be twisted. America cupped the undersides, hefting the sheer weight as she squeezed. “Like what you see?”

Monica had only just had her first ever male orgasm (not that she knew it) so to be receiving cleanup head from two new girls was already growing to be too much for her. Her sensitive dick throbbing from every lick and kiss the two ran up her thick shaft. Their moans of enjoyment only made her hotter. The feel of Darcy’s thick tits against her thigh increased her to boiling. And the look of America’s perfect caramel bust jumping around for her made Monica molten.

“It’s nice having a dick, eh?” America cooed, loving the look in Monica’s eyes as she short circuited from overwhelming pleasure, “I believe you that you always had a dick. Mark has a way of making the truth come out. Before him, I thought I was just a lesbian. I forgot about my lifelong quest for huge white dick. You touched him in there, and he made you remember your truth, didn’t he?”

It all made a frightening amount of sense, at least to the small part of Monica that could still understand. It was just being overshadowed by the blissful sparks of double blowjob licks.

Darcy was wild with it. Practically mashing her face into Monica’s dick while she licked, sloppily ruining her makeup with as much drool as her mouth could produce. She was so plump and thick, even her tongue was wide as it ran up the shaft to taste as much of her commanding officer as it could. Webb was different, leaner, meaner, focusing more on precise strike kisses of her surprisingly plush lips against Monica’s skin. She focused lower than Darcy but was no less hungry. Monica having to grasp at her hospital bedsheets as hard as her butt was clenching just to stop herself from covering these girls immediately.

“Mm, looks good. I know your dicks aren’t ‘the same’, but Mark’s record was seven girls sucking him off at once,” commented America. Stretching herself out before lowering her star spangled shirt back down. “You have fun, Futa Puta. I’m gonna go make sure that the science team have made progress on the magic shielding suit. Make sure they both cum before you get dressed, we still have work to do! Ciao!”

Monica was somewhat sad she didn’t get to bust a load inside the busty babe before she waltzed out the room. But making these two science sluts cum? The military girl knew she’d enjoy that mission quite a lot.

A couple hours later, America had gone off again to punch at the Hex, Monica was recovering from her post new bottom surgery blowjobs, and Darcy had returned to her post to run analysis on all the cum she'd sucked out her superior officer.

It was true that a lot of the base was running on fumes. They were the world's top spies and government agents, yet when the magical radiation was this potent it was hard to get any work done. Morals began to slip, and it was up to the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. to try and study the effects before it became a national problem.

And speaking of national problems.

“What the hell kind of operation are you running here, Coulson?”

It hadn’t been Phil’s day. His ‘rival’ head of S.W.O.R.D. stomping towards him just cemented that fact in his head.

“Can this wait, Director Hayward? I’m sure you’re just as busy as I am.”

“Yeah, I can see you’re busy,” Tyler Hayward growled, spinning around a nearby television to show off the latest episode of Wandavision XXX, “Mind telling me why an Avenger is making a porno all over your base?”

“It’s not my favourite show either, Director. Gilmore Girls has a much better message,” said Coulson, never breaking his jovial yet slightly annoyed smile.

“You think this is a joke?” Hayward spat, jamming a finger into Coulson’s shirt, “S.H.I.E.L.D. is a relic. We both know that you’ve failed time and time again, ever since Hydra took you over. You should hand over all assets to S.W.O.R.D. immediately.”

“I won’t be doing that,” Coulson calmly retorted, “Until I recover my missing agents this is my mission. You don’t have any information we need, so I think we hold all the cards here, don’t we?”

Hayward growled angrily, “You bastard, Coulson. You know you stole my… HER!”

An angry finger pointed towards a certain big breasted babe that had seen a thunder god’s penis.

“H-hey, he just offered me more money, man…” mumbled Darcy, trying to look as busy as possible. “Could you two maybe stop measuring dicks long enough to just work together already?”

“What’s she talking about?”

Coulson sighed, knowing he’d have to be the bigger man here, “Obviously I didn’t call you here just to antagonise you, Director Hayward. Agent Lewis is right, I think we need to work together here if we’re ever going to recover our missing agents.” He took a hold of the TV and spun it right back around. “And it starts with making sure we don’t stare directly at the screen.”

“Why not?”

Coulson tightened his lips, “You should come with me.”

“This doesn’t make you look any better, Coulson.”

“I know, but it’s an unfortunate reality we need to deal with.”

Standing side by side behind one way glass, the pair of directors looked positively perverted as they watched dick pound as hard as it could into pussy. The feverish pitch of the woman’s ass slamming down on the man’s junk looked positively inhuman. Perhaps most bizarrely, they were more focused on watching the TV than they were actually revelling in the coitus.

“Why the hell are we watching these two fuck, Coulson? Who are they?”

“Agents Deke Shaw and Elena Rodriguez. Ask me a week ago and I’d tell you there’s a higher chance these two would spontaneously combust before they’d betray their partners. Yet here they are.”

Hayward frowned, “What are you saying? What the hell is going on Coulson?”

“We’re not sure, but a prevailing theory is related to Wanda Maximoff’s connection to the mind stone… and this man that Agent America Chavez calls ‘Mark Williams’. We’ve scanned her a few times since she’s been in the base. She’s claimed she’s from another universe, and we believe her. Temporally, she’s an anomaly. But there’s more than that. The girl is obsessed with Mark. Her brain is swimming in images of him to an unnatural degree.”

“So the girl has a crush. Doesn’t explain why we’re here watching Clockwork Orgy over here.”

Coulson exhaled a long melancholic breath, “Deke and Elena have partners trapped in the Hex. In order to alleviate their worries I tasked them with monitoring the TV show. We realised too late that Wanda’s magic and Mark’s ability to affect your brain from afar was mixing in everyone that watched. Masturbating when no one was watching, moaning the names of the characters, an inability to look away, until inevitably the level of horniness became too much to bear and they just grabbed the closest body.”

“What the hell?! Are you saying she’s infecting us out here with her… smut show?!”

“Exactly,” nodded Coulson, lips tighter than ever, “I’m afraid in order to stand a chance, we’ll need your men who haven’t seen any Wandavision yet. Me and all of S.H.I.E.L.D. may already be compromised.”

It was then that Hayward noticed Coulson’s boner.