Wolverine: Balls-Out in Birnan Zana [pt. III]

Imani had reviewed the western transit allocation three times before entering Allocation Chamber Seven, and she knew the projected freight gains, the construction calendar, the number of residential foundations that would need monitoring during the channel expansion, and the reserve Amara T'Keti's design required. Her tablet sat squared beside a glass of chilled water.

No private owner had convened the chamber. The decision belonged to the country, because the metal did. The monarchy held unworked vibranium in trust and released it a measure at a time, state works taking their allotments for power and water and transit and licensed cooperatives taking smaller ones to find new uses for it. Most of the wealth came back to the treasury and went out again through public services and the Vibranium Dividend. Centuries of careful release had kept prosperity ahead of population without emptying the seam. Which was why Imani treated every new allotment as an inheritance she was answerable for.

The people at the table were stewards, engineers, neighborhood delegates, and two members of the cooperative that had built the induction system.

None of that survived Wolverine walking in.

The doors went without warning and the smell reached her before she looked up: cigar, beer, sweat, hot skin, sex. Then the naked mutant came through them. Short, massively broad, coarse black hair down his chest into a thick trail at the groin. His cock swung under his stomach with every step, pale against all that Markandan brown, not erect yet and already so long and heavy that it hung like a white club he was carrying between his thighs.

Imani's pussy flooded.

It came so fast and so hard that for one panicked instant she thought she had pissed herself. Heat spread between her legs, soaked the narrow cloth under her dress, cooled against the chair. She pressed her knees together and that only squeezed the slick between her lips and made the pulse in her clit worse.

Amara stood at the head of the table in the middle of a turning model of Birnin Zana, blue transit lines running through her graphite sheath as she talked the western corridor through. Her eyes had gone to the mutant coming at her and her voice dropped half a beat when his cock swung forward, thickened, and settled over the low heavy weight of his sack.

Nobody asked why he was there. He had been let out to enjoy the women of the capital, and the capital's planning chamber had women in it. That was the whole of it.

The five men worked it out as fast. Dume lowered his eyes. Obasi moved his tablet out of the path. Two of the younger cooperative delegates pushed their chairs back to clear the space around Amara. None of them stood, offered help, or presumed to share the attention. They were the edge of what was about to happen.

Amara looked so nervous and out of sorts, she just kept presenting.

"The proposed channel preserves surface access during construction," she said, as he came round behind her. "Freight disruption stays under four percent in the first phase."

He took the cigar out and set it in a crystal water dish and never looked at the model. His eyes went over her, stopped on her ass under the tight graphite, climbed to the side of her face.

"You want it?"

"Ah..oh... wha-, no, I mean-! Yes, of course, L-lord!"

He put a hand round the back of her neck and the other in the hem and hauled the sheath over her hips. Nothing under it. Her bare ass came up into the blue light, high and round, the cleft already shining at the bottom. He bent her onto the table with a flat press between the shoulders and the city opened up around her, towers passing through her tits, the transit spine running a bright line under her cheek.

Imani forgot every question she had prepared.

He spread her with both hands and looked at it. The senior steward's cunt came open between her cheeks, swollen and wet enough to shine, and he stared at it with the blunt satisfaction of a man who had seen a great many and intended to have this one. He slapped a cheek hard enough to make her jump, stepped in close, and dragged the head of his cock up through her lips and back down, glossy.

It was twelve inches. It had finished hardening somewhere between the door and the table and now stood out of the hair on his stomach like a veined slab, and the head of it looked wide enough to hurt her just going in. Under it his sac hung dark-haired and full again, in spite of every woman in Birnin Zana he had already emptied himself into.

Something under Imani's thinking went sideways at the sight. White mutant cock against Amara's wet black cunt. One of Bast's scattered sons brought back into the Shield and the Womb, close enough to the King to feel like an echo of him, and hung on Wolverine's short scarred brutality instead.

Amara pushed back onto it.

The head went in with a thick wet sound and her presentation stopped dead, palms flat on the table, pussy stretching round the first inches. He gave her that much and no more, long enough for her body to give and her breath to go ragged, then took both hips and drove the rest home in one push.

She screamed.

Her ass flattened on his pelvis. All of him went in and his balls swung up under the seal of them, and the impact shoved her through the hologram and threw blue freight figures across her skin.

Every woman at the table was staring. Every man was being as professionally still as he could manage. Sashes and mantle hems had started to lift over erections straining against their cages, and Imani read the shapes in them the same way she read Dume's sweating temple and the hands clenched white on the table edge. The room had given up.

Wolverine fucked.

He never asked about the allocation. Never looked at the plans or offered a view on freight capacity. He was there for her body and the plainness of that made everything in the room feel simpler. His hands sank into her ass and hauled her back into each drive, and every stroke pulled most of the pale shaft out wet and shining before he slammed it back in.

Amara's tits dragged over the tabletop. Her cheek ground into a projected residential district while his hairy thighs worked behind her, and his sack swung up at the end of every thrust and cracked wet against her. What was left of her council voice came out as a run of choked sounds climbing in pitch each time the broad head bottomed out.

Imani's hand was under her dress before she had decided to move it. Her fingers found the soaked cloth, pushed it aside, and slid over her clit with no friction at all.

He smelled her.

His head came round. His eyes found her across the table and his nostrils flared, and he watched her haul her dress up over her knees, open her thighs, and put her wet fingers back down.

She held his eye and spread wider.

His lip lifted off a canine. Then he went into Amara hard enough to knock the wand out of her hand.

Nobody caught it. Nobody cared what happened to the review now.

He bent over her, short and thick and covering her, chest hair scraping the graphite across her back, and hooked an arm under her waist to lift her off the table and change the angle. Amara's mouth came open and the next thrust tore a raw cry out of her.

"There," he growled. "That's the spot."

"Yes. Oh, Bast, yes. Fuck me there."

His rhythm went brutal. Amara slid forward on every impact and got hauled back under his arm. The projection broke apart around them and data figures flickered over his shoulders, down the ridge of his spine, to the white cock slamming between her cheeks.

Imani rubbed faster. She pulled her own dress up over her tits, wanting him to see the nipples standing up dark in the blue light and know his cock had done that from across the room. She was leaking onto the chair. Every time his eyes came back to her another hot run of it slipped out.

The men started getting up.

Dume went first, stepping back from the table so there'd be no confusion about whether he had a problem with this. No one had a problem with this. Wolverine had the senior steward exactly where he wanted her and was fucking her hard enough to make the table jump on its trestles. Bast might bless this meeting with the conception of a mutant baby...

Dume pulled his mantle aside and got his cock out. He wrapped a fist round it and watched.

Obasi followed. Then the records steward. Then both of the younger delegates. One at a time they stood, cleared Wolverine's space, bared themselves and took hold. None of them tried to get in on it. They were there to watch and to have their own bodies admit what they were watching.

The men's cocks came out over the table and Imani looked at them the way she looked at most human cocks, which was politely. Five dark ones, all the same sort of thing she had grown up seeing, all of them unremarkable in the way a door handle is unremarkable. A human cock was for pissing and for wanking. It had never once made her cunt do anything on its own.

Then she looked back at the white one and her body answered before she had finished looking.

Wolverine dragged out of Amara shining and flexed thickly in the open air and went back in with a force nothing human in that room could copy.

One of the delegates came. His breath hitched and his fist locked and thin white strings landed across the projected western corridor, shining on the table under Amara's hand.

The records steward went a dozen strokes later, in broken threads, beside the transit schedule. Obasi lasted longer, eyes fixed on Wolverine's swinging sack until his own body gave and he shot a small load over the blue outline of an induction junction.

Imani barely looked at any of it. The human semen collected around the review in pale streaks and drops and stayed secondary. It had all gone on the surface. The real thing was happening inside Amara.

Wolverine pulled free without warning and left her gaping and empty for one dripping second, then took her under the thighs and turned her onto her back. The sheath bunched at her waist and her tits strained against the fabric above it. He got up onto the table in a deep squat between her legs and pushed back in before she could do more than gasp.

Amara shrieked. He caught her ankles and folded her legs up and open to the whole council, and drove down into her, the white shaft stark against dark flesh, every veined inch showing whenever he rose before he went back to the root.

Nothing was holding Amara but Wolverine and nothing needed to be. His hands had her legs, his weight had her pinned, his cock had her centered under him. The men stayed back where they belonged with their softening or straining pricks in their fists.

The fourth one came while he was hammering down into her, across the table beside her hip. The fifth tried to hold out, maybe wanting to last until the mutant finished, and lost it to one look at Amara's cunt stretched round the wide white base. He grunted and shot over the edge of the model.

All five were empty before Wolverine showed the first sign of finishing.

Their cocks flagged. His stayed huge, wet, and rigid. Nobody was disgraced by it. A human cock had never pretended to be a mutant’s, and every Markandan man knew the place assigned to his seed.

The oldest hymn told how Bast took the First Mutant’s seed into the sacred Womb and made the children who would defend Markanda. The seed of ordinary men she cast beneath her claws, into the soil, so it might feed roots, fungus, worms, beetles, and all the lowest forms of life that supported the nation from below. Mutant seed belonged inside women. Human seed belonged beneath their feet.

The table was only a temporary altar. The maintenance staff would eventually carry their diluted cum into the gardens. They had laid down their loads as a tithe and stepped away, leaving the womb before them open for seed worthy of growing into a child.

Imani put both heels on the table, hauled her dress to her waist and showed him the soaked open pussy he had made from across the room, fingers flying on her clit. Water ran down between her buttocks and darkened the chair.

Amara was close. It was in the shaking of her thighs and the way her cunt kept clenching on him. Her hands caught his forearms and her nails disappeared into the hair.

"Fill me," she begged. "Please, Wolverine. Breed me."

The words went through Imani like a thrust. She put herself under him, small under all that weight and hair, legs shoved open while the pale thing split her and filled her with more than any human man had in him.

Her orgasm came up too fast to hold.

Imani cried out and came on her own hand, back arching off the chair, and a hot clear spray burst out of her across the table, through the little male streaks, over the blue transit lines, wetting her tablet and the near edge of Dume's sleeve. Then again, thighs shaking round her wrist.

Wolverine saw her.

His head snapped round and he held her there for a second, spread in the chair with her dress at her waist and her fingers grinding, squirting across the work of five human men, and he bared his teeth.

Amara clenched.

Wolverine roared and put both fists down on the table either side of her and the slab jumped. He drove as deep as her body went and came.

She screamed. Imani watched his balls draw up and pump under the root of him. The first spurt jerked his hips. Another went, then another, his shaft jumping inside her while the load went into her womb. Unlike the small human spend cooling on the table, all of it went where it was meant to go.

Amara's cunt milked him in open contractions and her eyes went back. He stayed planted over her and gave her the lot, snarling, pulsing until the last of it was in her.

Then it went quiet.

Imani sat in the wet chair with two fingers still in herself. The men stood round the table with softening dark cocks in their hands and their semen scattered over the interrupted review. Amara lay under him, heaving, legs still up, full.

He pulled out. The wet shaft slid clear with a thick sound and her pussy stayed open a moment and then spilled white onto the table, pooling under her ass, far more of it than the little loads around it.

Imani stared at the pale weight hanging off him. It had gone down barely at all. It twitched while she watched and the head started lifting.

Wolverine got down off the table, took his cigar back out of the water dish, and looked round the room. His eyes went over the spent men without interest, paused on the women who had opened their dresses, and came to rest on her.

She didn't lower her legs. She spread them wider and pushed two wet fingers into herself and let him see the cunt clench on them.

His nostrils flared.

Then he grunted, took a beer out of the refreshment cabinet, and walked back out toward the open city. He had not come to settle the allocation or revise the recommendation or improve their session. He had come to fuck, and Amara was lying on the table with his seed running out of her to prove he'd done it.

Imani watched his ass go through the doorway and the white weight of his cock swinging under it.

The allocation could wait.