Mark starts building his kingdom

Mark sat comfortably in one of the Royal Talon's opulent leather seats. His gaze was trained on the window next to his seat. Puffy white clouds drifted past the craft as it sped towards its destination. Mark observed the swirling oranges and reds of the sky as the sun began its daily descent into the inky abyss of space.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Mark looked away from the window at Jean. She was kneeling on the soft floor while she rested her head in his lap. She nuzzled his fat flaccid cock with her cheek and let out a contented sigh. A pale white cumstain stretched across her flawless face, marring her like a brand. She made no effort to clean herself though, and smiled whenever it drew his attention.

On the other side of the room, Ororo and Aneka slept on top of one another on a large leathery couch. Their massive black breasts were squished outward against each other and jiggled slightly with their every breath. Mark tore his gaze from the spectacle and refocused on Jean to find her giving him a knowing grin.

"That's funny coming from a telepath," he remarked.

The older woman rolled her eyes at him. Her plush lips quirked upwards.

"I guess I could just read your mind," she mused, observing him with teasing green eyes.

"Are you sure you want to go down that road again? I just got finished punishing you for your stunt in the forest," Mark said.

"Oh I know, Master," Jean flushed and bit her lower lip. She lifted her abused bubble butt in the air. Her gorgeous eyes seemed to shimmer with satisfaction. "It's definitely something I won't forget about any time soon."

Her expression grew more serious. "But all joking aside, how are you feeling?"

She looks worried about me. That... is pretty touching actually.

"I'm a little nervous," he said. "We're trying to take over an entire country, a highly advanced country at that. A lot of things can go wrong."

"I know," Jean said sincerely. She reached a hand up to grasp one of his. "But you don't need to worry. If our mission does go awry Scott, Ororo, Aneka, and I should be more than enough to protect you. We'd give our lives to keep you safe."

"That's part of what I'm worried about," Mark said, massaging the soft skin of Jean's hand. "I don't want to lose you. Any of you."

"Then you won't lose any of us," Jean said, as if it were a guarantee. Mark found himself believing her. She smiled warmly at him and kissed the head of his cock. It twitched. "I have faith in you, my love. We all do. There's no way you can fail."

She stuck out her hot, wet tongue and trailed it along the length of his penis.

“After all, you did conquer my mind and body in ways not even the Phoenix could have managed. That's no mean feat considering I'm one of the strongest psychics in the world,” she whispered. Her warm breath tickled the skin of his hardening member.

He smirked down at the alluring redhead and placed a hand in her hair, maneuvering her mouth to the head of his cock.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

Jean enveloped his cock with her mouth and let out a pleased moan as she drew it into the back of her throat.

Mark sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly. Somehow his goal of conquering Wakanda seemed less unattainable.

---

Mark and his retinue minus Scott stood in the cargo hold. A faint rectangular outline in the grayish floor revealed the existence of the ramp that would descend out of the bottom of the aircraft. He felt no turbulence as the advanced Wakandan craft sliced through the sky like a knife.

“Beginning our final approach to Birnin Zana now. ETA two minutes,” Scott’s voice filtered through the intercom.

Jean stood in front of the group. She wore her tight black X-Men uniform, with a few additions scavenged from the Royal Talon’s armory. Silvery vibranium armor covered her chest, forearms, and shins. The highly durable armor was also impossibly light, requiring no training to wear. Ororo and Aneka stood to Mark’s sides. Clad in the same vibranium armorset as Jean, they looked every bit the protective guardians of their mutual master they wished to be.

"I've slaved the two Wakandan telepaths to my abilities and tasked them to monitor anyone in the capital powerful enough to pose a threat for even the slightest indication that our presence here has been noticed," Jean said confidently, a look of deep concentration on her face. "The 'Usurper' is on his way to the landing pad. His mental barriers were a lot more intricate than Aneka's, but they proved to be no challenge for me."

Aneka scoffed.

“Such incompetence. The inability of my countrymen to ward off Queen Jean’s mutant abilities is further proof of our pale King’s divine right to rule Wakanda,” Aneka said. Underneath her armor, she wore the minimalistic, tribal outfit she’d donned when she had landed in the meadow near Mark’s hometown. A large sword was sheathed across her back and she held a long, heavy spear with her right hand.

Her piercing brown eyes looked towards Mark with a gaze that seemed suffused with worry.

“I fear for Wakanda’s future if you do not take up the reins of power in our nation, and soon.”

Mark turned his head to regard her. The dark-skinned Amazon lowered her gaze deferentially. Her knees trembled, as if she were nearly overwhelmed with the compulsion to kneel under the power of his gaze. Mark’s cock twitched.

Such devotion, and from a woman who was once so fanatically loyal to the Black Panther that she would have died to protect him.

He put a hand under the taller woman’s chin and gently lifted her head so that her worshipful eyes stared into his.

“The people of Wakanda aren’t ready for me to be king just yet. It’ll take a lot of work to sway them over to our side,” he trailed a thumb up to the black woman’s plump lips. She engulfed it with her lips, swirling her tongue around the tip of his thumb.

“I’m counting on you to help me make that happen, Aneka-baby.”

He withdrew his hand from Aneka’s face. She stared at him for a moment wide-eyed and utterly reverent.

“You honor me, my king…” Aneka croaked almost breathlessly and Mark almost chuckled in amusement at the fierce warrior-woman’s pure deference. She bowed her head to him, giving him an eyeful of her generous cleavage. Mark glimpsed her huge black tits as they jiggled underneath her armor. “I shall do whatever you ask of me, anything, so that the women of my country may one day learn the pleasures of serving your big white cock as I have.”

Holy shit….

“Aneka. If you keep teasing our King, he’ll be much too distracted to topple the Usurper,” Ororo said. Mark caught an amused glint in her hazel eyes.

Heh. I bet Ororo loves having Aneka at her beck and call now. She probably should have been a little nicer to Ororo when she landed in the meadow.

Aneka blushed.

“Y-yes, you are right, my Queen. I apologize for the distraction,” the tall, curvaceous warrior-woman bowed her head lower.

The craft’s intercom system clicked before Scott’s voice filtered throughout the room.

“We have reached the Royal Palace, my Lord. Royal Air Control has given us permission to land.”

“Good work, Scott,” Mark muttered. He turned to address his women. “Be ready for anything. If you need help with anything or see anything suspicious, let Jean know and she’ll relay the information to the rest of us. Have you set our link up yet, Jean?”

[Yes, my Master.]

“Fantastic,” Mark said. There was a slight shift in the weight of the craft as it touched down on the landing pad of the official residence of Wakanda’s head of state.

[We’ve just landed, my Lord. I’m on my way down.] Scott’s voice came in over the telepathic link.

A few moments later, Scott Summers descended into the cargo hold, clad in his X-Men uniform along with gleaming vibranium armor along his legs, arms, and chest.

“Are you ready, my Lord?” Scott asked.

Mark nodded. “Lower the ramp.”

“At once,” Scott replied, walking up to a panel on the wall and pushing a set of buttons.

A dull hiss sounded as the craft’s landing ramp lowered. Dim amber waves of sunlight filtered into the windowless room.

Wow, it’s hot down here.

The heat and humidity of sub-Saharan Africa was a **** to be reckoned with, even at sunset. It wafted into the room in waves, visibly distorting the air of the cargo hold. Mark shifted uncomfortably in his t-shirt and shorts. Suddenly, Aneka’s choice of garb didn’t sound so impractical given the environment she came from.

Aneka and Ororo walked down the ramp first, the former with her hand clenched around her heavy spear for use at a moment’s notice. Mark followed, with Jean at his side. Scott brought up the rear, his cyclopean gaze darting every which way in search of any threat to his liege.

The area around the landing pad was wide and spacious. Trees with light green leaves swayed silently in the evening breeze. A large, ornate building with towering spires loomed close by.

The Wakandan Royal Palace. Aneka showed me images of the building back on the Talon, but to see it in person…

It bore none of the influences he’d come to associate with Western or Eastern architecture. It seemed a product of a culture in its own right. An act of defiance against the great historical powers of the world.

And soon it’ll be mine. I’ll have accomplished something even Doctor Doom with all his genius and wealth hasn’t, and all it took was a little mind control.

Mark grinned smugly. He wondered how the notorious supervillain would feel about being upstaged by an eighteen year-old.

A section of the palace wall opened with a swish and five figures stepped through. One of those figures was a man. Tall, dark-skinned, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled. His hair was close-cropped like that of a soldier, but he didn’t carry himself with the bearing of someone who routinely marched off to war. There was a lithe grace to his walk as he approached Mark’s entourage that belied his musculature, reminding Mark of the man's alternate namesake.

Flanking their lame duck king were four scantily clad dark-skinned women. Each seemed highly athletic, with toned muscles making themselves known along their bodies. Each held a spear in her right hand. They seemed to ignore Mark's retinue and eyed Mark himself with curious expressions. Mark stared back, undressing their barely-clothed buxom forms with his eyes.

More Dora Milaje. Damn, look at those big tits and childbearing hips. I guess Aneka wasn't kidding when she said these women were selected for their genetic fitness to give Wakanda's king an heir.

"Ororo, welcome again to Wakanda," T'Challa said. He smiled at Ororo and Aneka. "And excellent work, Aneka. As always you perform your duties admirably."

"It was nothing, my King," Aneka bowed slightly, playing the obedient servant to T'Challa for anyone who might have been watching. A hint of revulsion slipped into her tone anyway, but no one commented on it.

"We should probably move this to a more private setting," Ororo said, glancing meaningfully back at Mark.

"Indeed," T'Challa followed her glance and smiled at Mark. He turned and began to walk. "Follow me. The underchambers of the Palace might not be as glamorous as the rest of it, but it will be free of any prying eyes."

The journey to lower levels of the Royal Palace was quiet for the most part. Jean had a look of concentration on her face for most of it, telepathically supplying Mark with updates on her progress towards solidifying nominal control over Wakanda's capital city as well as diverting any foot traffic in the Palace away from them. Ororo and T'Challa engaged in idle conversation as they walked, their earlier discussion over the phone apparently forgotten thanks to Jean's psychic manipulation. Apparently T'Challa's wife Nakia was on her way back from a meeting with the merchant tribe and wouldn't back in the Palace until later that night. Eventually, they reached a pair of double doors that opened to reveal a large elevator. Low indigo lighting pulsed from the control panel on the wall and throughout the compartment.

There was a sensation of rapidly descending before the elevator came to an abrupt stop. The doors slid open smoothly, revealing a bare, metallic hallway that stretched into the distance.

The Black Panther was the first to step out of the elevator. Mark followed him. The dark-skinned man turned to him, his dark eyes glimmering with what Mark could only describe as relief.

"Ah, it is nice to finally be able to speak freely, Master," T'Challa bowed his head. "Every moment that I am unable to serve you openly would be **** if not for the knowledge that your secrecy is of the utmost importance."

Mark glanced at Jean who smiled at him mischievously and nodded.

"Well you're definitely right about that. Say, I don't think we've ever met before. Let's shake hands."

T'Challa nodded and smiled graciously. "Certainly, Master."

Mark's heart thudded in his chest as the sovereign of the most technologically advanced nation on Earth grasped his hand.

I can't believe it was this easy.

Commands flowed outward from his fingertips as soon as their skin touched, embedding themselves in T'Challa's open mind and reshaping it forever.

Within a minute, they broke the handshake.

T'Challa grinned at Mark and knelt before him. "How may your pet serve you, my King?"

Mark smirked at the sight of the powerful man brought low before him. Jean, Ororo, and Aneka were sporting similar grins while Scott nodded at the development.

"Why don't you tell your Dora sluts to kneel before me?"

T'Challa showed no reaction to Mark's crass language. He turned towards his Dora Milaje escorts. "Kneel before your master."

The four Dora dropped their spears and eagerly approached Mark, sinking to their knees on the tiled floor in front of him, adjacent to one another. They gazed up at him with submissive eyes.

Mark bit his lip as his cock became rock-hard in his shorts.

T'Challa continued. "Introduce yourselves and beg him to reshape your minds to serve his every whim for the rest of your lives. K'Voni, you may go first."

"Master," the Dora on the far right began. She seemed younger than the rest, two or three years older than Mark at most. She gazed up at him with pretty amber eyes. "As the false king says, my name is K'Voni! I am yours to reshape as you will. I beg of you, make me yours!"

"Hm," Mark pretended to ponder her words before he tore off her fabric top, exposing her perky chocolate breasts. He kneaded them for over a minute, ferrying commands into her wide-open mind as he did so. The girl giggled lightly as her mind was overridden, giddy at the thought of being subjugated utterly by her master.

"T-thank you, my King," K'Voni bit her lip shyly and her cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red. She looked like a star-struck schoolgirl who had just met her celebrity crush.

Too cute. I can’t wait to have fun with her later.

Mark smirked at K'Voni and glanced at the Dora next to her. She seemed a older; around Aneka's age and had the childbearing hips to match. She gave him a small smile and began to speak.

"Master, I am Anzara. I have over a decade of experience as a member of T’Challa’s personal guard and have been trained by the best courtesans in Wakanda to serve my true king's every sexual desire, as well as provide him with offspring should he command it. If you reprogram me, I promise to put my body and skills to use serving you with unwavering obedience and loyalty. My life belongs to you."

"Straightforward, just like Aneka. I really like that in a woman," Mark said. Anzara blushed and Mark placed his hand on her bald head, massaging the soft skin of her skull. Anzara let out a sigh as his commands penetrated her brain, enslaving her to his whims.

"And who might you be?" Mark gestured to the woman on the other side of Anzara, feeling very much like a kid in a candy store.

She appeared to be in her mid-twenties and sported a ponytail similar to Aneka's at the back of her shaved head. She lowered her eyes deferentially.

"I am your ****, Master. My name no longer matters, for I have no identity beyond that which you bestow up me. Call me 'Whore', '****', 'Toilet'; anything you wish, and that is what I will be," the woman said. She showed no reaction as Mark's eyes slid over her dark curves.

Mark's eyebrows shot up. "Sounds like you had a submissive streak even before Jean got her hooks into your brain."

The woman nodded. "Choice has always been something I’ve struggled with. I always found it easier to allow someone to make my decisions for me; to control everything about me. Maybe that’s why I fell so readily into my training with the Dora Milaje. For many years I had hoped that T'Challa could be my master, but he was wholly inadequate; more similar to the degenerate foreign egalitarians than a true Wakandan king. He knows not how to control a woman - to dominate her utterly until her every thought is about pleasing her master. No, he prefers to give those around him more authority than they are due. There's something... an aura of command about you that tells me you could be the one to give me what I want. You could be the king Wakanda has been crying out for all these years. In that way Wakanda and I are the same; both of us yearn for the firm hand of an absolute ruler. So please, Master. Rewrite my identity as you see fit so that I may aid in your quest to dominate all of Wakanda."

“Delicious," Mark replied, lowering a hand to cup her cheek. "I love a woman who knows her place, but I still need to know your real name. If anyone in Wakanda still refers to you by that name then you need to keep using it in order to hide the secrecy of my rule from the hundreds of your Dora sisters who have yet to be converted into my loyal subjects.”

"My parents named me Nima," she said. Mark didn’t miss the implicit disconnect between herself and her own name. Nima sighed contentedly and pressed her face into her master's hand. "Much as I would rather give up my name to adopt one of your choosing, the expansion of your rule is paramount. I hope to help convert a good deal of my sisters into your willing slaves. Perhaps one day Wakanda herself will bear a new name befitting her white king.”

"Hah, I guess that’s possible,” Mark had to grin at the thought of changing the official name of the country. It seemed beyond ludicrous to consider, but it enticed him regardless.

“Good girl, Nima," Mark praised her. He let his ability sing its tune once more and yet another member of the renowned Dora Milaje fell under his sway.

The fourth and final Dora Milaje that had accompanied T’Challa looked at Mark with patient brown eyes. She seemed to be in her late twenties and held herself with a cold confidence that the others lacked. Her head was shaved bald like some of her sisters, but while they bore a tribal mark or two along their scalps, the last free Dora in the room was adorned with a single pointed red marking that stretched from her forehead to the back of her skull. Her lips were plump and red, and Mark couldn’t help but imagine them wrapped around his cock, leaving smudge marks along the shaft as she licked and sucked. Her lips seemed designed for cocksucking. He wondered if she’d ever put them to the test.

[Take care with this one, my Lord. She’s sizing you up, trying to gauge your worth despite Jean forcing her to obey you.] Scott said over Jean’s telepathic link. [Out of the four Dora Milaje warriors who accompanied the Usurper, this one will be your most effective agent within her organization.]

[Who is she?] Mark sent back.

Ororo stepped forward. [That's Okoye. She's one of the more skilled of the Dora and was never far away from T'Challa when she wasn't on missions. She's among the few Dora to always serve as a member of T'Challa's personal guard when he leaves the country on diplomatic trips. If Aneka was the primary instructor of the Dora Milaje, Okoye would be the living embodiment of her teachings.]

[Interesting.]

His eyes trailed over the fourth Dora’s body. Her form was simultaneously athletic and voluptuous. Full breasts and flaring hips accompanied muscled arms and thighs trained from years of training and battle. This was not the body of a bodyguard, but a soldier.

He walked up to her.

"Are you ready to join your sisters, Okoye?" he asked. He unzipped his fly and drew out his thick hard penis.

"Yes, Master," the woman said. Her eyes widened slightly.

Mark smirked.

"Do you swear to serve me in any way I want and to protect me and my wives from all harm, even if it costs you your life?"

She continued to stare up at him calmly.

"I do, Master."

"Then by the power vested in me, I deem you my cockslut," he said, at last touching the warrior woman's face with the tip of his cock. He dragged it along her cheek as his influence drenched her mind like water would a sponge. He slapped her with it on her nose for good measure.

"Thank you, my King," the woman's expression shifted. Her eyes seemed sharper, more passionate. "I shall guard you with my life and kill any who oppose you."

"Lets hope that last part won't be necessary. In the meantime, why don't you put those lovely blowjob lips to good use while I tell everyone else what our plans are for the day?"

"Yes, my King," the black woman dragged her face along her king's pale cock until the head was positioned at the edge of her lips. She opened her mouth and sealed her lips over his cockhead, sucking with a level of **** he'd never before experienced.

"H-holy shit..." Mark muttered. He tried to keep a straight face as he turned to look at his servants. "T'Challa..." Okoye took another inch of his cock into her mouth. "T'Challa... start gathering your people in the Palace for a meeting with uh... a 'foreign dignitary'. K'Voni, Nima, a-and Anzara-" the enslaved Wakandan woman took her lips off his cock and slowly licked her way down his shaft until she reached his balls. She opened her mouth again, sealing her fat wet lips over his left testicle, drawing it into her mouth.

"Ugh... K'Voni, Nima and Anzara - send for your sisters who are in the capital. Oh shit... It's time we started spreading our roots."