Post-Multiversal Orgy

*written with Namichwan

Mark let Memwia guide him through the household, the big woman holding him tightly while whispering praises, her massive breasts bouncing and occasionally swaying into his side, “I am so proud to call you my king… I’m your fervent servant always and my very womb aches to bear your blessed seed-”

While appreciating her adoring words, he was having difficulty concentrating on them as he continued to try to wrap his brain around the fact that there was another 'him' running around in this universe and that the guy had managed to brainwash an entire country.

That had to be it, right?

Mark had dropped in on this family completely randomly and they’d all reacted like this was a completely normal and expected occurrence. Did this other Mark spend his time popping in on various people, laying with their wives and daughters whenever he felt like it? The answer to that was: yes. He had only to ask himself: What would I do if I controlled a whole nation’s worth of women?

Of course, he would fuck as many women as he could, filling them with his seed, imprinting his genetics upon their offspring. That was the ultimate expression of biological success, what truly drove every man’s base instincts. He’d read about ancient strong-man rulers like Genghis Khan whose DNA was supposedly present in more than 100 million people to this day, from eras when powerful men could father children with job lots of women as a matter of course.

From the moment he’d realized he was hung better than ninety-nine percent of males, he’d been captivated by the thought of knocking up a large number of women, bringing that tradition back into vogue.

Clearly, that was what he was meant for. No doubt Gengis Khan or that Chinese emperor who had like 700 million descendants had been spectacularly endowed like him. He knew any guy would kill to be in his position and they’d do exactly as he had if they had this power. And the fact that he could make everyone involved feel good about it, make them all feel beautiful and desired meant literally no one could hold it against him. He was creating a better world one fertile womb at a time.

And that he could literally mind control people into acquiescence meant his potential was orders of magnitude greater than these previous conquerors who could only enforce their supremacy through strength of arms or unnatural charisma. So, of course, this other him spent his free time impregnating women and making babies!

Fuck, he’d been planning on cucking that stupid Demiurge prick back in the UP, hadn’t he?

He grinned with that thought, slapping his hand onto Memwia’s barely covered ass-cheek, sinking his fingers into her supple gush as the sounds of Wakandan music floated up to him, growing more distinct with each passing step.

Soon enough they exited the interior of the compound moving out onto a balcony that ringed a central courtyard open to the brilliant blue, cottony white cloud studded sky. The building consisted of multiple conjoined residences for each family in this extended kin group. Another point of similarity with the Utopians, the Wakand-no, Mark had to stifle the urge to giggle- the Mark andans were a big communal society, a far cry from the nuclear family divided up in their cookie-cutter suburban mcmansions of his own culture. Making their way to the staircase that led down to the ground floor with America floating in tow, he was not prepared for what he saw.

It was filled with people, thirtyish in number and it was a riot of motion and color. He didn't know where to look but his gaze was funneled by the quite obvious intentional arrangement of everyone to the row of five lovely black asses in the center of the courtyard. They were so close to each other that their supple bouncy cheeks touched. It was five young women, heads down and posteriors up upon a mattress laid out on the tiled ground.

Six women danced in unison before them while wearing lingerie in striking styles, from bright multi-colored almost garishly patterned bras, panties, and bustiers to something almost 'tribal' in nature made up of reeds, feathers, and a plethora of beaded necklaces and bracelets. There was even a truly revealing sexy garment in gold and black that he could only describe as 'Ancient Egyptian' in style.

The rest of clan were arranged in a vaguely U shaped mass around the display. The more matronly women as well as the truly old grannies of the family as well as the men. Even these 'lesser quality' women on the sides had clearly made every effort to beautify themselves with make-up and jewelry as well as some truly epically confining girdles and corsets.

The men were few in number, perhaps seven beyond Jerak and K'Tabo, and all were very conspicuously without pants. A strange contrast given the dress shirts they were wearing. Colorful Byzantinely embroidered vests, fine fabric tunics, and even something like a Wakandan take on a tuxedo. Faces were painted in bright colors and one gnarled elder had a truly horrific number of piercings.

Clearly this clan had spent every moment since he'd arrived making frantic preparations as Memwia's family kept him entertained. He was more than a bit astounded. This other Mark's subliminals were apparently permanent in effect and he wondered if his own were just as powerful. Maybe this version of him was different, fundamentally or perhaps he’d obtained training from some mental prodigy, or some cult of telepaths. Maybe he found out how to sweat on an entire country Mark mentally joked.

In any event, Mark intended on exploring this new universe in full measure. He couldn’t imagine the other Mark being mad, when he thought about another version of him intruding upon his own bevy of brain-washed hotties all he could think about how hot it would be to double-team them and maybe trade super powered sluts like Pokemon cards.

As he stepped down the stairs, Memwia drifting off of him to take a spot behind him and to the left, mirroring America’s hovering position on his right, he noted that every set of eyes in the courtyard were latched upon him. From the dancing women, furiously shaking their assets, to the elders taking in deep breaths.

His first step off the last stair was momentous as every person in sight abruptly knelt, the music filtering out from some unseen sound system cutting off. Pregnant silence filled the space as Memwia joined her family members, going to her knees and bowing to prostrate herself while touching her head to the floor.

Standing there, amongst such pure devotion… was intoxicating. Even with their faces pressed to the tiles, the air was electric with desire. The only sound was a single breathless ‘wow’ from America behind him.

He felt to blood rushing into his groin, prick pushing at the front of his borrowed robes.

Suddenly, a woman near the front yelled, “Nceda sizale!”

Which prompted the rest of the girls to chant as well, “NCEDA SIZALE!”

“Nceda sizale!”

“NCEDA SIZALE!”

This continued for a few more rounds. Mark lightly tapping Memwia’s slumped shoulders and delicately brought her back up to standing, her eyes nearly tearful as she believed she was picked. “What does ‘nincada sizzle’ mean?” Mark quietly asked the lady above the chanting.

“Ah, you are testing me master.” She smiled warmly, “Nceda sizale is words from our old dialect you insisted on returning. In English it means ‘breed us please’. Our mighty warriors chant it in battle, our prayers end with these words, and right now it is simply our greatest wish.”

Look. In hindsight, Mark knew he should be taking multiversal travel with a degree of caution. This could still be the universe where all the women had sex by biting him and draining his life, or a universe where pegging was the only form of intimacy, or any other number of horrible ideas that COULD be in his head right now. But they weren’t. Here he was King, and fuck the silly science shit that thought otherwise.

His eyes fell upon the row of female backsides that appeared to be the center point of this gathering. Closer now he could see that a finely woven colorful blanket had been laid across their top halves, obscuring their identities and making the nude presentation of their black buttocks' all the more lewd.

Mark walked closer, the Markandan matriarch in tow as America seemed to examine one of the kneeling dancers with interest.

"What's this then?" he asked Memwia as he gestured at the five girls with their butts in the air, glistening slits peeking out. "An art exhibit?"

She tittered at his joke, touching and stroking his arm before answering, "Ah my king this is our clan's own humble 'Fuck Line'."

Mark's eyes went wide as those two crass words spilled from her mouth like she was referring to something completely benign.

"Not so grand as the ones at the Royal Glorifications but I hope it is to your liking?" He could feel her intense searching gaze on his face as he tore his stare from firm well-curved asses to the rest of the women around them. Didn't see Judetia or Kedanah so... He snorted as he saw familiar gold and silver bracelets around a pair of ankles. That's why Judetia had been rushing to him about that school project of hers right before this shindig, coincidentally waving her braceleted wrists about in front of his face. Trying to get one up on the competition.

Clever girl…

His silence and whatever weird expressions he'd been making set off Memwia as she diffidently went on, "Oh but... we haven't attended one recently, perhaps the Fuck Line is passe... oh no,
please forgive us for our ignorance! We're but a-"

He stifled a laugh as this grown-ass woman he'd just met continued to fidget and apologize, obviously anxious to please him as she offered up both her daughters' tight little cunts to him.

He took her hand softly as he said, "No, it's fine. In fact, I'm enjoying the view quite a lot." With that he leaned over, filling his palm with one huge boob, and whispered, "If there's one thing I love, it's a naked woman…" His voice was husky as he licked her earlobe playfully, eliciting an involuntary shudder from her body.

"Yes, master!" She cried and she was suddenly shimmying and jiggling wildly in place as she abruptly stripped off her sarong. With their support gone her huge breasts dropped and separated covering her entire torso like a pair of fleshy watermelons, nipples like fat berries in the midst of brown saucer-sized areolas. That big black dump-truck shelf of an ass of hers wobbling.

He chuckled and pointedly turned away from her, squatting down, “Fuck Line, huh? Heh. I like this guy’s style…”

He looked at the taut, athletic globes before him, and the firm dark thighs beneath them. He looked at between the smooth, black cheeks, his gaze inexorably drawn to the cleft between them. Judetia’s pussy lips protruded, shiny with arousal.

“So this is one of the holes you gave birth to, Memwia?” Mark said while casually stroking a finger down Judetia’s slit, causing her to shudder and press her butt back at him. He wasn’t sure which one was Kedanah but he thought it was the ass to the right, remarkably similar in size and shape to this one save for the pale irregularly shaped birthmark stretching across one cheek.

Memwia’s nude fleshy form knelt next to him, one of her hands laying out atop Judetia’s bottom soothingly as she spoke huskily, “Yes, my king. This is my child’s hole. Please fill and expand it with your royal cock! I want nothing more than to see my daughter turned into a proper babymaker for her king!”

Mark laughed joyously and told her, “Good! Then I suggest you prepare it for me! See how pretty her pussy is? Look at how her little Black clit peeks out so cutely. It looks so tasty, doesn’t it?”

The absurdly fleshy and busty Black woman didn’t even hesitate. She was already bending down to her daughter’s offered backside in response to his first full sentence, huge boobs pendulously making full contact with the ground as she did so. Her mouth started salivating in response to his last.

Slowly and gently Memwia extended her tongue and, trembling with insatiable lust, softly began to massage her daughter’s clit.

Mark watched intently, mesmerized by her instant obedience, her enthusiastic plunge into ****, this beautiful display of intimate carnal tenderness. Blessed with two feet of combined width of buttocks and a pair of bloated black basketball’s worth of backside, she was a sight to see as she smashed her face into her own daughter’s small firm ass.

Judetia lost all composure, curly-haired head popping out of the other end of the blanket as she rocked her hips back and cried out, “Oh, Bast! Bast! Bast! Mom, oh! Oh Bast, oh mom, oh no” she grunted, “So good… so fucking good…”

“It is just like we practiced, Judetia,” her mother advised between licks, “you must get wetter for the King. Otherwise he will not be able to stretch you properly.”

Mark grinned and got to his feet watching the rest of the ass-up girls wiggle and squirm in their own excitement. Such a bunch of horny pussies.

He casually tugged upon his achingly hard prick, feeling the heavy flesh pulse hot and hard in his grasp, as he turned away from the arousing sight.

On a whim, Mark strode over to the side, big dick banging back and forth as he couldn’t help but be curious about how the males were dealing with the situation. All signs pointed to his counterpart turning every single Wakandan into a cuck, and he couldn’t help but feel tingling excitement at that thought.

The 'Markandan' males were an eclectic group. A couple of brawny fat dad's that included Jerak, one absurdly muscular man who made him think of Terry Crews, the rest an assortment of elderly characters who wouldn't look out of place in a barber shop (except Mr. Metal face!) and some younger guys, like K'Tabo who had precisely zero percent body fat, his bulging muscles like Black Conan the Barbarian.

He stood over the big-bellied Jerek and looked at the older man as he shook both his small Black penis and his rotund stomach. The guy looked dopily pleased with the situation and his eyes were openly admiring Mark’s cock. Mark couldn’t resist taking a wider stance, revealing to the man how much more of a man he was with a packed dangling sac that outmassed his by an order of four to one.

“I thought Black guys were supposed to be big-dicked?” he challenged and a wiry old lady answered him, one of her wrinkled hands working urgently between her knobbly legs.

“That’s a Western misbelief, my king, as you well know!” she smiled at him, showing off a startlingly healthy set of bright white teeth, “ A well hung Markandan is an anomaly, a muscle-bound ox who began his life in his true King’s royal ball-sac. Naturally, they serve as eunuchs in the Royal Guard. A more average Markandan male is a servile peon, a beta male destined to be an uncle in the city or a husband in the hinterland.”

Mark snorted with amusement, well aware that the concepts of alpha male and beta male were complete bullshit even as he enjoyed the narrative that they implied. Then again, they had been bullshit. Like the asshole he was, he’d made them real in the heads of each of his enslaved superheroes and it seemed that this other Mark had done the same for the entire country of Wakanda.

Holy shit…

“An uncle?”

“Yes.” She cocked her head to the side and crinkled her eyebrows, “My king enjoys hearing about his subjugated male subjects. Hehehe… No surprise, I suppose. The cucks enjoy the same pleasure as their king. Too bad about their pathetically weak sex drives or perhaps they’d be good for something other than taking care of City children as Uncles.”

Mark’s expression was absolutely confused by this statement even as he remained more than a little turned on by this crazy old lady’s words, his thick prick remaining hard and pulsing between his legs, “Wait.. what…?”

An erudite looking Black woman absolutely bulging from her black lace corset got to her feet saying, “Apologies, your majesty, but I’m afraid your American upbringing is forming a mental block that is standing in the way of true understanding. Americans and Europeans have a warped sense of things due to their natural societal guilt about eighteenth century slavery.”

“They don’t realize they are better endowed than almost all races, save for Homo Superior. Markanda has been able to sit back and judge the peoples of the world with a discerning eye, consequently our women have spread our legs and enticed the well-hung White men to seed us even as we’ve denied the needle-dicked Asiatics a similar boon. Of course, Mutant-kind is a Markandan’s natural and preferred breeding stud. That you, my king, are both White and Mutant is a treasure to us poor Markandans…”

“You tell em, Chica!” America called from her floating position, mumbling to herself, “Whew~ I’m definitely preferring this Wakanda.”

Mark stared at the skinny elder. Fuck. That was hot as hell. AND he was definitely going to hell. He didn’t consider himself racist, not thinking any skin color was better than the rest and yet it turned him on to no end to encode such a distinction in the general Wakandan psyche. Then again, he was totally racist. Mutants were superior to humans full stop. That was obvious. He’d bitten the apple Magneto offered long ago, even before he knew he had powers. When you got girls running around with asses like Rogue and Storm, how could he not see them as superior?

It was about time that a nation recognized that and set about solving the conundrum. No need for prejudice. Of course, human women should scorn powerless human males in favor of fantastically powerful mutant males. A human male should be honored to have his seed upgraded by a mutant woman’s super-powered womb.