Agatha All Along

_Written in collaboration with Namichwan_

“Alright, you got my attention with that ghost trick,” said Mark, approaching Agatha. “You wanna do this? Let’s do this.”

May lay collapsed into a heap of trembling, sweat-slicked leg muscle, her “Chun-Li” thighs twitching as she tried to pull herself together.

But Mark had already moved on. He strode past her to Agatha, his cock still rock hard and glistening with May’s juices, leading the way like a divining rod seeking its next source of power.

He walked straight into the frantic motion and lewd chaos of the gangbang he’d ordered.

But the pile of men around and on Agatha parted for their King, scrambling back with open confusion and reverence for those who clocked him. All accept one. A young S.H.E.I.L.D or S.W.O.R.D. agent by his nudity save for a harlequin mask and renaissance boots, head buried in Agatha’s monumental cleavage, was frantically pumping his hips, lost in the sensation of fucking the witch’s pussy.

Mark laid a hand on the shoulder of the guy.

“Tag out.”

The mere touch of the King sent a jolt through the man. His eyes went wide and with a strangled gasp, he erupted. He came instantly, his body seizing as he spilled his load inside the witch, before scrambling backwards, apologizing profusely as he tripped over his own pants to get out of Mark’s way.

Agatha, meanwhile, didn’t go quiet.

She sucked in air, chest heaving under the ridiculous weight Wanda had stapled onto her, lips glossy, eyes bright with that same old predatory intelligence. Even now, even laid out in the middle of Mark’s little morality play, she refused to look like prey.

She looked like a woman taking notes. The confident mask somewhat marred by the random fat guy beneath her. Pinned under the witch’s new, heavy curves, his hips were lifted, his hands dripping her ass like handles, his dick buried in her asshole to the hilt. Every time Agatha shifted, his shaft dragged inside her back hole with a wet, blunt shlkk, making her flinch and leak helplessly. The doughy guy’s face was turned to the side, jaw clenched, eyes glassy with the strain of holding himself there while the whole square watched their King approach.

“Well, Fi! Na! Ly!” she rasped, voice roughened by everything she’d been doing with her mouth, and by the steady, rude presence in her ass, “You know how to make an entrance, I’ll give you that.”

Mark stepped closer. May’s sweat and slick were still on him, his cock still hard, still obscene, still glistening like it had been varnished with conquest. He didn’t care about the stares. He didn’t care about the bodies. He moved like the square belonged to him because it did.

He stopped over Agatha, shadow falling across her face.

Her hat brim wobbled when she swallowed.

“You’re still trying to talk,” he said.

“Talking is kind of my whole brand,” Agatha shot back, and forced a smile that tried to be flirty and landed somewhere closer to defiant. “Yet another thing we have in common, my King. Also, sidebar, it’s cute that you think I’m not enjoying this.”

Kevin’s hips gave a tiny involuntary jerk under her. His cock pulsed in her ass. Agatha’s lips twitched, the smallest, traitorous sound slipping out of her throat, a breathy little “hhn.”

Mark’s gaze dipped, not to her face first, but to the mess of bodies and the way Kevin was lodged under her.

His mouth curved.

“Look at you,” he said, amused. “Still trying to posture while you’re literally being used as a cumrag.”

“Cumrag?!” she hissed with obvious outrage before her usual smirking composure settled back in, “Look at you, getting smug about claiming what’s already been thoroughly… sampled. Nothing screams ‘alpha’ like being turned on by the waitlist.”

A snort burst from his nostrils at that before crouching.

Not kneeling to her, never that. Just lowering himself enough to get in her space, to fill her vision. When he squatted, his balls were so huge they settled against the ground between his feet, heavy and shameless, shifting against asphalt as he adjusted his stance. His cock stuck out from his groin like a weapon above her messy pussy.

Agatha’s eyes flicked down before she could stop them.

Her throat bobbed.

The crowd around them went quiet in a new way, the nude men going passive and watchful, smaller erections jutting uselessly, hands hovering like they didn’t dare touch while the King was in motion.

Mark reached out and took her chin in his hand.

The contact made her whole body react in a way her pride clearly hated. Her breath hitched. Her pupils flared. Her thighs trembled. Her cunt clenched hard around nothing and then leaked anyway, juices spilling onto Kevin’s balls.

She tried to disguise it as a laugh.

“Don’t,” she said, but it came out thin. “Don’t do that.”

Mark’s thumb slid along her jaw, slow and possessive. “Do what? Touch you?”

He leaned in, close enough that she could taste him on the air.

“You kept me trapped,” Mark said quietly.

Agatha’s smile twitched. The mask slipped for half a second, showing something raw and ugly.

“Come on now, Mark,” she replied, attempting smooth but sounding a little too sharp, a little too breathy. “Are you still upset about a little invasion of autonomy? Feels a little hypocritical if you ask me, hun.”

Mark did not answer with words.

He answered with his cock.

He shifted closer, the huge fleshy head smacking wetly against her mound with a possessive splaat that made her whole body jolt.

Agatha hissed through her teeth. “Fffk.”

Kevin’s cock jumped in her ass from the impact, a rude little thrk that made her hips twitch.

Mark smiled like he’d just found the exact button he wanted.

Then he pushed.

The blunt glans pressed into her slit, spreading her lips with ruthless ease. Her new body was built for this, cursed for this, magically ready. That was the cruelty of it. She should have been able to take it and keep her face. She should have been able to sneer and bargain and stay Agatha.

Instead, the moment the head breached her, she made a sound that was pure, stupid pleasure.

“Ahh, no, no, no, Mark, you… ngh!”

His cock slid in, inch by thick inch, driving through her juices and that of all the other men, the fat head stretching her open, forcing her to accept the shape of him. The shaft filled her so completely her belly tightened around the pressure. Her cunt tried to clamp, tried to stop him, then melted and took, wet and greedy, as if the magic in her pussy recognized his size and expanded around it with a hungry, obscene willingness.

Mark kept a hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him while he fed himself into her.

“Still wanna talk?” he murmured.

Agatha’s eyes rolled back as another heavy inch sank in. Her voice broke into wet breathless syllables as she tried to answer him and only managed a ragged, shaking moan when he ground deeper and stole the rest of her words.

“Hh… hhah… fff… you can’t… you can’t just…”

Mark gave a slow, deliberate shove, and the thickness pressed deeper, scraping the inside of her in a way that made her legs shake.

Agatha came hard before she could finish the sentence.

Her back arched off Kevin, her tits bouncing on her belly, her mouth falling open on a ragged cry. Her pussy clamped and milked around Mark’s shaft, juices gushing out of her as the magic in her body tried to accommodate more.

“Shit, I’m… I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m…”

Mark did not stop.

He kept pushing, and every new inch made her lose it again, like her body had been turned into a pleasure engine that detonated on contact. Mark’s cock slid deeper, his girth spreading her wider, the head dragging through her hot, slick canal with a wet shlrrk, and Agatha’s composure shattered into a series of helpless, humiliating climaxes.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, no, no, no, Mark, please, please, that’s too much, I… hhhn!”

Kevin’s cock in her ass jolted with each spasm. The double stretch made her vision flash white. Her pussy and ass both clenched, squeezing both men, turning her into a writhing, shaking knot of wet need.

Mark watched her face with calm amusement, like he was observing an experiment. “Look at you crack. The great Agatha Harkness, reduced to a sloppy little cumdump wrapped around my big fat mutant dick.”

Agatha tried to sneer. It collapsed into a strangled moan as Mark sank another thick push into her and the head bumped deep.

“Nngh! I’m not… I’m not reduced to anything, you arrogant…”

Her words dissolved into a high, broken sound as her cunt fluttered and then clenched hard enough to make Mark’s hips stutter for the first time.

And Mark liked that.

He slowed down, and the slowness was worse. A long pull out until the fat head dragged through her stretched lips, then a heavy, grinding push back in, the cock acting like punctuation, like a threat, like a reward.

“Tell me you’re not enjoying this.” he said.

Agatha’s eyes snapped open, furious, glassy, shaking. “I… I hate you.”

Mark thrust in deeper. “Sure you do.”

Agatha’s body betrayed her on a gasp. “Hhh… fff… goddess, Mark…”

He fed in more. Ten inches. Twelve. Fourteen. Each one introduced like a signature being pressed into her from the inside.

Agatha’s orgasms came in violent waves, piling on top of each other, her thighs trembling so hard they couldn’t hold her posture anymore. Her fingers dug into Kevin’s love handles and then the ground, nails scraping street, trying to find purchase on reality while her pussy kept swallowing more of Mark’s length.

Mark’s balls shifted against the ground as he squatted lower and drove in.

Agatha’s voice collapsed into moans and wet, panicked syllables. “Hh… hhah… I can’t… I can’t… it’s so… it’s so…”

Mark’s hand slid down and casually grabbed a fistful of her enormous tit, squeezing it on her belly like he was testing fruit. The sudden jolt of nipple-sensitivity made her scream.

“Ahh, fuck!”

Mark’s cock surged in with that cry.

He sank the last inches until he was buried to the base, balls-deep, the full fifteen inches locked inside her.

Agatha’s eyes rolled back so hard the whites showed. Her mouth opened on a sound that wasn’t language at all, just raw, unfiltered pleasure.

“AAH!”

Her back arched, her hips bucked, and her pussy clamped around him with a violent, pulsing grip that milked his cock like it was trying to drain him by force.

Then she squirted.

Explosively.

Hot fluid gushed out around Mark’s shaft and splattered against his pelvis in wet bursts, spraying his thighs, running down both his nuts and Kevin’s vastly smaller set, turning the whole connection into slick, dripping chaos. The sound was obscene: splat-splrk-splrk, her body pumping it out in sync with the spasms tearing through her.

Mark stayed seated deep, grinding through it, holding her there like a stake through the center of a creature he’d just conquered.

“Good girl,” he said, purely to taunt her.

Agatha’s face twisted with fury and helpless bliss. “Don’t… don’t call me…”

Mark gave one slow, brutal grind that pressed the head into that deep sensitive spot like he was stamping it.

Agatha’s whole body seized. Her legs went rigid. Her mouth fell open and no sound came out at first, just breath, just trembling. Then another orgasm hit, harder, deeper, like her magic vagina had been built to reward the moment of being fully claimed.

Her cunt clamped. Milked. Pulsed.

Her eyes fluttered.

Her head fell back.

And she went limp.

Out for a few seconds, body still twitching around Mark’s cock, breath stuttering, cunt still gripping him in aftershocks while Kevin stayed lodged in her ass beneath her, trapped, panting, his own face a wreck as he held himself there.

Mark didn’t panic. Mark didn’t stop.

He kept moving, slow and deliberate, shallow thrusts at first, little hip twitches that made the cock shift inside her with quiet, possessive shlkk… shlkk, like he was keeping the conversation going with his body while she rebooted.

Agatha blinked back into consciousness on a ragged inhale.

Her eyes were unfocused for a heartbeat.

Then the predator returned in fragments.

She forced her mouth into a smile. It shook.

“Well,” she rasped, voice shredded, and it cracked into a small moan when Mark gave a deeper push. “That’s… that’s one way to… mmh… make a point.”

Mark’s gaze held hers. His hips kept a steady, slow rhythm. Pull, push, grind. Constant. Relentless. Not fast, but never paused. His cock was a second mouth, speaking inside her.

“You kept me trapped,” he said again, like he hadn’t spent the last minute turning her brain into static.

Agatha’s smile twitched. “And you’re… still upset,” she managed, and her sentence broke as Mark punctuated it with a heavier thrust that made her cunt spasm. “Hh… Mark. Hypocrite.”

“You put my mind in a box,” he continued. “You drove my body around like a costume. You nearly got me killed trying to steer this toward what you wanted.”

Agatha tried to shrug. It came out as a tremor because Kevin’s cock was still in her ass and Mark’s cock was still in her pussy and both were moving her from the inside.

“Yes, yes,” she panted. “I trapped you, you trapped me, ngh, Mark, you’ve already proven you’re the better… whatever. I just want to enjoy the ride I’m locked into. You can respect that, right?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. His cock slid deep and slow, the thick head dragging through her slick and making her voice wobble.

“My life, Natasha’s life, nearly ended,” he growled. His hips pushed in. “And you want me to respect you?”

Agatha’s pupils flared. She tried to keep her chin high in his hand.

“So what, you’re telling me this because you want an apology?” she purred, but her purr kept breaking into breathy little sounds as her cunt clenched and milked him. “Sorry Mark, but I’m not great at apologies. I am excellent at bargaining.”

Mark’s thumb slid along her jaw. His cock kept moving. Slow. Deep. Unavoidable.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “You don’t get to bargain from the top anymore.”

Agatha tried to laugh. It became a moan. “Mmh. Then what does King Mark want from lil’ ol’ me?”

Mark leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath.

“I want you to understand the difference between you and me,” he said. “You were playing with puppets. I’m not a puppet.”

Agatha’s lips parted, ready with another barb, another little dagger of cleverness.

Mark squeezed her chin a fraction harder, and his cock ground deep, the head pressing in a way that made her lose the thread for a second.

“Hh… okay,” she hissed, furious at herself. “Okay. Fuck..”

“And I don’t need your permission to rewrite you,” he went on, holding himself there, the sensitive head of his shaft pulsing against her deepest internal gate. “I don’t need a spell. Right now, the head of my dick is inside your womb. I can rewrite your soul from right here.”

He ground it in, a small, terrifying circle against her cervix.

“I could make you a drooling, grateful idiot just by pulsing inside you,” he whispered. “Spending the rest of your life as ‘Agnes the neighborhood whore’.”

Her nostrils flared. She hated that. Hated that he’d said it out loud. Hated that she believed him.

But she didn’t panic.

Agatha Harkness didn’t do panic. Panic was for the weak and stupid. Panic was for people who didn’t have a move left.

Agatha forced herself to focus, to speak through the constant filling glide, through the wet sounds, through Kevin’s steady pressure in her ass, through the humiliating way her cunt kept fluttering around Mark like it wanted to worship.

Her eyes flicked, quick and calculating, taking inventory. Mark’s posture. The crowd’s attention. Wanda nearby, too emotional, too dangerous. May collapsed and trembling, still trying to regroup. The way the square had become a throne room, and she was the one currently being mounted on the throne.

Then Agatha looked up at Mark again and made her gamble.

“Don’t be a f-fucking idiot, Mark,” she said, and the insult hitched on a breathy moan when he gave her a slightly heavier push. “Nngh. Don’t.”

Mark blinked once, surprised. He paused his hips for a beat, leaving her filled and aching.

Agatha smiled wider, and it wasn’t submissive. It was sharp. It was ambitious. It was the smile of a woman who’d just found a crack in a locked door.

“You think I’m the biggest threat you’ll ever face? Me?” She gasped as he began to move again, dragging the thick head of his cock over a particularly sensitive ridge inside her. “The real danger to your life right now isn’t the big titty bitch witch beneath you… ngh!… it’s the one standing behind you.”

Mark scowled but couldn’t help flicking his eyes back to Wanda for just a second.

“That’s right, her,” Agatha pressed, breathless, her hips involuntarily rolling to accommodate his girth. “I know you have her under your thumb now, but how long till her magic blows up another skyscraper? Where will you be when her psyche snaps again from grief? Are you really sure your mind control has her… goddess… totally convinced that she still loves you more than Vision?”

Mark was lightly grinding his teeth beneath his frown. He slammed into her, hard.

“So what? You’re going to ‘protect’ me from the hottie that just bent over for me?”

Agatha’s breath came out in a ragged little laugh that turned into a moan halfway through when Kevin shifted under her and Mark’s cock dragged deep at the same time.

“It isn’t just about protection,” she managed. “It’s about training. I know magic, Mark. She doesn’t. Plain and simple.” She swallowed, throat bobbing, eyes flashing with the confidence she was trying to wear like armor. “Strange took your powers before, didn’t he? You think she can face him?”

Mark’s stare hardened. His hand tightened at her chin. His cock stayed inside her like a constant threat she couldn’t escape, and it made the negotiation feel obscene because her body kept answering him even while her mouth tried to posture.

“Then I change your character to be a slutty obedient magic teacher,” Mark growled, increasing the pace, his balls slapping wetly against Kevin’s trapped sack. “Rather than keep the evil BITCH of a megalomaniac that tried to kill me. You’re still not convincing me to keep you.”

Agatha’s cunt clenched hard around him at the words obedient and BITCH, furious at herself for the reaction. Wet squeezes that made his shaft throb in response.

“And will that obedient teacher tell you when Wanda’s mind goes wrong, or just smile at your orders like all the rest?” Agatha panted, her voice low, husky, absolutely certain she was right even as her body betrayed her. “Don’t make me stupid. That’s boring. It’s safe. It’s… pedestrian.”

Mark’s gaze sharpened, and he held her there on the deepest seat for a beat, cock pressed into her like a signature.

Agatha kept going anyway, because if she stopped she would lose this moment, and because stopping meant feeling. Feeling meant unraveling.

“You don’t want me to join a town of obedient dolls,” she moaned, her head falling back as he hit her cervix over and over again. “You already have that. You want a kingdom. A court. You want people who sparkle while they kneel. People who have teeth.”

Mark’s fingers stayed on her chin. She could feel his control in the contact like a brand warming over her skin. His hips resumed that slow rhythm, and every stroke forced her to talk around the wet, thick glide.

“And you think you’re teeth,” he said, grinding deep.

“I’m a blade,” Agatha corrected instantly, then hissed as his cock dragged out and pushed back in, the head rubbing deep and making her voice tremble. “A sharp one. Point me.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, studying her like she was a weapon on a table, deciding whether she was useful or just dangerous.

Agatha’s voice softened, because she could feel something changing under her arguments. Not her strategy. Her body.

The steady piston of his cock was doing what centuries of discipline couldn’t. It was turning her attention inward. It was making the sensation itself part of the stakes.

“Let me keep my attitude,” she said, and the sentence stuttered when Kevin flexed under her and her ass clenched, squeezing him, then her pussy clenched, squeezing Mark. “I’ll still fall in line, battle beside you, train your witch. Just let me talk back sometimes. Let me play games. Not because I think I can win, but because it’ll amuse you.”

Mark didn’t answer right away. He just watched her, amused, and kept fucking her, slow and relentless, like he had all day to make her say things.

Agatha took the pause and pressed, breath hitching on each stroke.

“You’ll get tired, Mark. Everybody does. Even gods.” Her eyes flashed with something hungry and familiar, and then she betrayed herself with a tiny, involuntary whimper as his cock hit a deep angle that made her toes curl. “Let me be the kind of loyal that’s fun. The kind you can punish again and again, in new ways, whenever you feel like reminding the whole world who owns me.”

That one landed.

Mark’s mouth curved, slow. His voice stayed calm. His hips stayed moving.

“You want permission to be a problem,” he said.

“I want permission to be your problem,” Agatha breathed, and her breath turned shaky because while she spoke her pussy was doing something else entirely. It was squeezing him. Stroking him. Milking him in little greedy pulses that weren’t strategy, they were instinct.

Because she could feel it.

Not just the pleasure. The response.

Every slow thrust made his cock swell a little harder inside her. Every clamp of her cunt made it twitch. Every time she dragged her inner muscles around him, she felt that thick shaft throb like an answering heartbeat. And beneath his body, she knew his balls were heavy, full, waiting.

A woman’s craving rose in her like a tide she hated. Not the act of being fucked. The finish. The turning point where a man stops thinking and starts spilling, where the cock swells and jerks and empties those nuts, where the foolish idiot man goes stupid and animal and fires everything it has into her.

Even Agatha, dominant, ancient, misandrist, could not pretend she didn’t know the delicious, brutal satisfaction of it.

Her womb felt like it had grown a mouth.

She wanted it full.

For a moment, the square felt strangely still. Not quiet. The noises continued. But attention bent toward them anyway, like everyone’s instincts had aligned on the same axis.

Mark leaned closer until Agatha’s breath snagged in her throat.

Then he spoke, softly enough that it was just for her.

“Say it.”

Agatha’s eyes locked on his. Her pride screamed at her to refuse. Her survival screamed louder. Her body screamed loudest.

“My King,” she said.

Mark’s thumb moved again, a slow stroke at her jaw that made her shiver despite herself. His cock gave a tiny, deliberate twitch inside her, like punctuation.

“Say what you are.”

Agatha swallowed.

Her mind raced, faster than it had in centuries. She looked at him, this mutant stud who could rewrite a person with a thought or a thrust and she realized the "Blade" argument was only half the key. He didn't just want a useful weapon. He wanted to know he had broken her. He wanted to know that his cock was powerful enough to turn a centuries-old genius witch into a stuttering mess.

If he wanted a bimbo to validate his power, she would give him the greatest performance of her life.

She let her eyes go wide and vacant. She let her jaw slacken. She surrendered her posture, melting against him not just in defeat, but in exaggerated, worshipful weakness.

“I’m… I’m an idiot,” she sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush,as if relieved to finally just admit it. “I’m just a stupid, empty vessel for you! That’s all I am! This… goddess, this cock is too good! It drains the smarts right out of me! I can’t plot when you fuck me like this! I can’t do anything but take it!”

Mark didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. He just watched her unravel with a dark, satisfied smirk, driving into her panting confession.

“Yes! Look at me!” Agatha babbled, her head rolling back, her cheeks flushed with the humiliation of it. “I’m drooling like a bimbo! I’m just a warm, wet sleeve for your magnificent cock! That’s all I’m good for! I’m so stupid for you, Mark! I’m so fucking stupid and happy just to be used like this!”

She bucked her hips, not to escape, but to impale herself deeper, desperate to prove how well she fit the mold he was breaking her into.

“I don’t want to think!” she wailed, clutching at his biceps, her fingernails digging in. “Don’t let me think anymore! It’s too hard! Just keep fucking the witch out of me! Make me hollow! Make me a good, obedient girl who only knows how to squeeze your dick! Please, Mark! I’m yours! I’m your hole! I’m your stupid, happy, cum-hungry slut!”

Mark ground his hips, a slow, crushing circle that made her gasp, and in that brief intake of breath, Agatha’s eyes snapped open. The vacancy vanished for a split second, replaced by a razor-sharp, desperate clarity. She used the momentum of her own debasement to slide the real offer across the table.

“Let me stay,” she moaned, the plea breathless but the intent iron-hard. “Not as your victim. Not just as a hole. Let me be your witch. Your right hand. Your knife in the dark.”

Mark’s grin widened, satisfied and mean. He liked that she was trying to negotiate while he was actively rewriting her soul.

“And what do I get,” he asked, increasing the rhythm, “besides a mouth that won’t shut up?”

Agatha smiled back, filthy and fearless, licking her lips lewdly.

“You get a monster who knows she belongs to you,” she gasped. “A monster who will do anything to stay in your good graces.”

The piston-like pleasure, the sheer, animalistic friction of it, finally broke the dam. She looked at Mark, this beefy, sweating, god-like man using her body to prove a point, and the intellectual bargaining evaporated.

She remembered what he was carrying. She remembered the weight of his balls from the inside.

Agatha’s eyes rolled back. She realized she needed it. She needed the biological seal of his ownership. She needed that hot, heavy load to flood her womb, to rewrite her from the inside out with his genetic signature.

“Oh goddess… goddess, yes…” she babbled, losing all composure.

She hauled herself up, ignoring the strain, dragging Kevin’s weight with her until she was pressed chest-to-chest with Mark. She smashed her huge, heaving bimbo tits against his brawny, sweat-slicked torso, clinging to him like a drowning woman climbing a mast.

“You’re a FUCKING GOD with that cock! YES!” she screamed out, right into his face, slobbering and desperate.

And then she did it. She reached back into her history, back to the days before she had power, when she was just a woman trying to survive persecution by being better in bed than anyone else.

She engaged her muscles.

Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release.

She began to perform a rapid-fire, milking kegel rhythm on his shaft, rippling her internal walls over the head of his cock with a skill that had been lost to time. It was a desperate, slurping grip, trying to pull the cum out of him by force of will.

“UGH! FUCK! Now I know why you get so much pussy! AH! YES!” she groaned, pressing her face into his chest.

Her tongue lashed out, dragging wet and rough over his left nipple. She sucked it into her mouth, humming with vibration, while her fingers tweaked and flicked the other nipple, treating his body like an altar she was terrified to leave.

“I never should have doubted you! UGH! FUCK! I never should have doubted this perfect fucking dick! YES!”

She ground her pelvis against him, her womb crying out for the alchemy. She needed him to turn into that bellowing ox a man does in the midst of rutting. She needed him to lose his mind and dump his potential into her.

“Do it!” she crooned, looking up at him with mascara running down her cheeks, flicking his nipple harder. “Unleash it! I know what you’ve got in those heavy balls! Fill me! Breed me! Make me a mother to monsters! Make me yours!”

She was doing everything.. She was offering him her total biological surrender.

Mark’s hand slid from her chin to her throat. He felt the desperation. He felt the ancient, milking technique trying to drain him.

“Fine,” he said, voice rough. “You want a role? I’ll give you one.”

He tilted his head.

“Court Witch,” he decided. “My problem. My entertainment. My warning to everyone else.”

“And Agatha,” he added, voice turning colder. “If you ever forget which way the hierarchy goes, I won’t need to kill you.”

“I know,” she sobbed, trembling, her pussy clamping down, ready for the flood. “That’s why it’s exciting. Just… please… now… inside me…!”

Mark released her throat and rose to his full height.

For one heartbeat Agatha thought he was going to take it, thought he was going to let her squeeze him into that helpless finish, thought she was going to feel those huge balls drain and fire and flood her.

Her cunt clenched hard, expectant, stroking him like a hand.

Mark’s hips slowed.

Then he stopped giving her depth.

He pulled out.

Shhh-luck.

The sound was wet, hollow, and devastating.

Agatha’s eyes snapped open in horror. Her tits slid down his sweaty chest as she fell back, losing her grip on him.

She felt the cool air hit her stretched, gaping entrance. She felt the absence of him. She felt the ache in her womb, empty and throbbing, denied the one thing she had just debased herself to get.

Mark stood back, his cock still rock hard, still glistening, his heavy balls full and untouched. He hadn’t even been close to finishing. Her ancient tricks, her begging, her nipple worship, none of it had broken him.

“No…” Agatha whimpered, her hips bucking involuntarily at the empty air. “No… please… put it back…”

Mark looked down at her with a cool, detached satisfaction.

“You don’t get the reward yet, Agatha,” he said, letting the words land like a whip. “You haven’t earned the breeding. You just earned the lesson.”

He stepped back.

“I’m going to find someone else to finish this in,” he announced, voice carrying to the crowd. “She’s warmed up. Let the betas have their turn.”

Agatha’s eyes burned. Her pussy pulsed around empty air, leaking and aching, furious at how badly it wanted what he’d just refused.

“Oh, my dear Mark,” she purred, voice trembling despite herself. “I certainly will.”

With a final quick exhale, Agatha looked around to the smaller morsels circling her. It was still the betas’ turn to feast on her proverbial scraps of meat, and they were hungry enough to growl through their desires.

“Come on then, boys!” she called, bright and theatrical, masking desperation with command. “Dig in before your King changes his mind!”

To demonstrate her prowess, she unleashed a spell that sprouted new spectral arms from her shoulders and armpits. Usually used for creating multiple hand-based spells at once, Agatha looked like a multi-armed goddess as she gripped the dicks surrounding her, many men gasping or groaning when the astral digits wrapped around their boiling lengths and began to stroke.

The gangbang began anew for the slutty witch. Agatha was easily handling any and all dicks thrust before her.

But every thrust that wasn’t Mark felt smaller. Every cock that wasn’t his felt like a reminder. Every orgasm she scraped out of the mess only sharpened the ache in her belly, the hungry, wet pulse of her body insisting on the one thing she’d asked for and the King had denied.

Maybe she should have been angrier about her new lot in life, but she had always been adaptable. Avoiding death from the hands of her sisters, becoming a central cast member of WandaVision, and now becoming a major player in the story of Mark. A man who had survived all the odds, just like her.

Agatha still didn’t know why the gods favored this mutant so, but she knew better than to fight the will of the world when it had a cock like that and a mind like his.

New goals and glorious purpose had become clear. Mark was the axis. It wasn’t just the cock that made him great, it was his mind too. His connections. The way those he touched turned protective, loyal, oriented around him like he was gravity.

Mark didn’t realize how useful she could be to him, but he would.

And she’d take a thousand lesser men, she’d wear a thousand humiliations, before she’d let that hunk of a man die.

Not when she still hadn’t gotten her reward. Not when her body still ached to feel him finally lose control and empty those heavy nuts inside her, exactly the way she knew he wanted.