A Week Later: Aftermath [pt. I]

Written with Namichwan

A palatial suite. The room was lavish with golden accents, marble floors, and plush furniture.

Mark was ensconced within a sinfully comfortable couch with a built in reclining seat, his feet up the extended footrest. He was perfectly nude, a week in Markanda and he's gone native. Currently, his extensive loaf of vascular cockflesh was fully erect and being lovingly tended to by two of his and ONLY his women.

America Chavez and Felicia Hardy.

They were kneeling before the young Mutant on the floor, their heads bowed as they attentively sucked on his towering cock, meaty bobbing asses swallowing up their g-strings, eagerly cleaning the huge phallus with their tongues and mouths.

He wasn't actually paying the two of them much attention, just lazily teasing a hand through their blonde and black manes as he stared into space. The silvery strands of Markandan tech laced his temples and forehead, beaming images and sounds directly into his mind.

The device was a wearable computer, a counterpart to the neural implants that had apparently been common amongst the Wakandan population even before their conquest by Mark. Not that there was much point to being paranoid about it now, but there had been no way he was going to sign up for brain surgery. So Shuri had supplied him with an equivalent device worn externally that could still connect directly to the brain, allowing him to access information instantly via thought. Mark was able to control the flow of data himself as well, selecting what he wanted to see and hear.

He was using it now to access the Markandan Internet and sate his curiosity about the differences between this world and his own, as well as the history of his more successful counterpart's rise to power.

The Brotherhood of Mutants. The Friends of Humanity. SHIELD. The Avengers. AIM. The X-Men. The Fantastic Four. His variant-self had defeated them all, turned back their strikes or eliminated them altogether.

He and himself were a **** to be reckoned with. Mark had a legion of followers, a nation at his command, a destiny laid out in front of him. And he apparently had a plan that was going to change the course of human history forever.

It felt absurd. He- I was a lazy bastard and yet somehow he and I was- were the most powerful being on Earth?

So fucking arbitrary. Was it the power? His/my fate determined from the very moment his and my mutant power manifested?

The history of his conquests was basically recorded in stone in this dimension, etched into the minds and hearts of the masses.

Mark Williams: The Conqueror.
Mark Williams: The Mutant God-King.
Mark Williams: The Monster.
Mark Williams: The Subjugator of the Mutants
Mark Williams: The Subduer of Heroes

Mark shifted on his couch-cushion, adjusting his position and sending his massive throbbing flesh-pillar of a cock swinging free from his groin, erupting between two sets of brazenly huge tits! It was a glorious sight, a monument to the power of the human body, the symbol of his dominion over the world around him. Black Cat's and America Chavez' hefty boobs were wrapped around it, their ample mounds pressed together as they squeezed it with their combined weight.

Mark Williams: The Destroyer of Worlds
Mark Williams: The Master of the Universe

One of those last two would be true at some point in the future, if he played his cards right.

That frightened him more than anything else. He wasn't ready to rule the world.

But, that didn't mean he couldn't prepare.