The After Party

Written in collaboration with Namichwan

Mark stood amongst his grand collection of new kingdom members. He panted, still staring at the phone in front of him while thinking about the message he’d just given to the world. It was certainly a bold move, one they’d planned for year 2 or 3 of his kingdom’s expansion, not month 5. And yet… he felt it. He felt a rising tide of those little ebbing connections begin to grow and grow as the view count of his speech increased. All the people around the world that watched it, listened to it, connected to it emotionally (or simply stared at the slab of meat hanging between his legs and wanted), they were all now tied to him by a single solitary thread. Nothing strong enough to control them through, but a thread that could be woven stronger with time.

It almost made him feel sick. An overwhelming increase to his powers, mixed with the anxiety he’d somehow fucked up, plus returning to a body that felt that little bit foreign to him. Mark stumbled a single step backwards and multiple arms reached out to catch him.

“Mark!”

Feeling everyone around him grounded his thoughts. He leaned back, letting the soft, yielding warmth of America’s body absorb his weight. He took a second to squeeze his negative emotions into America’s fat, heavy tit, his fingers sinking deep into the caramel flesh that spilled over her low cleavage-bearing top. She made a low, appreciative sound in her throat, shifting to press her tits harder against his palm.

“I’m okay… I’m okay. Just… fuck.” He exhaled long and hard, “Did I remember all the talking points, Nat?”

“Amazing work, Mark,” said Natasha with a warm smile, stepping closer to stroke his bicep, “The world will certainly be talking about you now, I’m very proud of you. For what you said… and for reviving me, Phoenix King.”

“Woah, reviving? What the hell happened with you two?!” America gasped, earning a quiet look from Natasha who silently promised to fill her in later.

“Fine fine.” America grumbled, though she kept nuzzling into Mark’s neck.

Then, the bubble of triumph was pierced by a frantic cry.

“Billy! Tommy!”

Wanda was turning in a circle in the middle of the town square.

“You’re not grounded anymore! Come on out!”

Silence answered her.

Mark shared a quick glance with both of his main girls. He overheard a bit of America and Natasha’s whispered exchange.

“She did what to the Avengers?”

Natasha had a grim frown, “In a word, she dismantled them. Wanda… she always wanted kids, and changed reality to make it happen. Created two kids who got absorbed by a magic villain, then had her memories of their existence removed. As you can guess, the second Wanda remembered she was pissed. Blew up the Avengers Mansion, then threw Ultron and the Kree at them… injured a bunch and even killed four heroes. People never really looked at her the same way again, even after she got her life together.”

“And you're worried she’d kill Mark?”

“She’s more than capable with the right mentality. Reality altering could probably even rough you up, America. If she’s as unstable now as she was then…”

With a gulp, Mark stood up from America’s grasp. She tried to hold onto him, to protect that with which she’d just fought so long to return to, but his resolved look made her weaken her grip.

He’d spent time in her head. He’d already seen the depths of her grief and pain. The wartorn Sokovia to the loneliness of America and having to kill the love of her life. Wanda was a powderkeg of emotions that (hopefully) could be tamed.

“Mark, I can’t find my sons. I can’t find Vision. Do you know where they’ve gone?” She looked around, panic rising in her voice. “Did Agatha take them? Did the… what? I can’t feel them, Mark. Where are they?!”

Mark looked at her. He felt the crushing weight of her grief threatening to revive in full, hitting him through their connection, a cold spike in the middle of his golden high. He knew exactly where they were. They were fictions. Drafts. Gone the second the hex had ended.

“Wanda… RK!”

Her hand snapped towards him inhumanly fast. A red glow wrapping around his torso as her head arched slowly towards him.

“You are Mark, aren’t you?” her voice was low, creepy. The whole town looked ready to jump her for touching Mark, but he put his hands up to stop them, “Not Agatha this time? Or some other thing trying to trick me? You spoke of alternate universes… nnhh… w-what am I doing?” She fell to her knees, tears once more flowing down her face as Mark fell from his floating position, “BILLY! TOMMY! VISION!”

Mark stumbled forwards, landing on his knees right in front of Wanda. Her big lost eyes looked at him with love, pain, and longing. Her emotions were overwhelming her, and as much as Mark wanted to make everything bad in her life go away, he knew he had to bring her back to reality. He couldn’t keep her in that lie. Not if he wanted to keep her. Not if he wanted this to be the happy ending she deserved.

He reached out, cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. He triggered his power, slipping in subliminal reinforcement to his words. Not so much commands as simple truths.

“Wanda, baby, listen to me.” he soothed, “They didn’t leave you. They just… made room.”

“Made room?” Wanda choked out, a tear spilling, “Vision… he promised…”

“Vision saved me.” Mark said softly, “He found me when I was trapped and lost and helped me understand what was happening. He knew, Wanda. He knew that he was… an echo. A memory you built out of grief.”

Wanda flinched, trying to pull away, but Mark held her firm, smoothing his thumbs over her wet cheeks.

“He told me he loved you.” Mark continued, voice dropping into his best heart-felt whisper. “He told me that he couldn’t give you what you really needed. He couldn’t give you a real life. Real heat. Real flesh. So he gave me his blessing. He gave me the last of his light so I could come back to you. He wanted me to take care of you, Wanda. He wanted me to be the husband he couldn’t be.”

Wanda’s lip trembled. “He… he did?”

“He did. He wants you to be happy. He wants you to be loved by a real man.” Mark pressed his hips forward slightly, letting her feel the heavy, undeniable reality of his cock against her navel. “He didn’t want you settling for a battery-operated toy when you could have the real thing.”

“But the twins…” Wanda sobbed, her hands clutching at his chest. “Billy… Tommy… they were my babies… we were a family…”

That really sucked and Mark was at a complete loss. He opened his mouth to say something comforting, something hero-like, but his brain just offered up a flatlining eeeeee sound. Dead non-existent kids were serious and not something he was equipped to deal with. The silence was stretching too long.

Over Wanda’s heaving shoulder, Natasha caught his eye.

The super-spy didn’t look worried. She looked pointed and practical. She locked eyes with him, raised her eyebrows meaningfully, and then dropped one hand to the flat expanse of her tight abdomen below the shelf of her huge tits. She rubbed in a circular motion.

Mark blinked. Hungry? What-?!

Natasha rolled her eyes briefly, a micro-expression negation before she pointed a finger firmly at his chest, then his crotch. Then she made a circle with her left thumb and forefinger and jabbed her right index finger through it repeatedly.

She pointed back at her stomach, miming a balloon inflating, then gestured at Wanda’s back.

Oh. Duh. That was kind of perfect.

“They aren’t gone, Wanda,” Mark promised, staring deep into her eyes, injecting a wave of maternal bliss directly into her brain. “Magic doesn’t disappear. It changes. Billy and Tommy… they were just a dress rehearsal. They were you practicing. Preparing.”

He rubbed her soft smooth belly underneath her own out-thrust voluminous tits, mirroring Natasha’s earlier gesture.

“They’re waiting for you, Wanda. But this time? We do it right. No magic tricks. No illusions. We make them real.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. “We make a real family. Sokovian blood. Mutant blood. Stronger than anything Thanos could ever break.”

Wanda’s breath hitched. The grief that had been threatening to tear her apart hit the wall of Mark’s confidence, and the overwhelming, biological imperative he was stimulating in her body, and shattered.

She looked down at his hand on her stomach, then up at his face. The loss of the twins faded, replaced by a sudden, dizzying hope. And lust. A deep, primal need to replace what was lost with something thicker, heavier, and more permanent.

“Real?” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “You… you’ll give me babies? Real babies?”

“Yes, Billy, Tommy, I’ll give you a whole dynasty, sweetheart,” Mark grinned. “I am Mark Williams, born and raised from Sokovia. But I am also Mark Williams, man from another universe. You protected me from Thanos’ reality warping by sending me to another universe. He would have erased me from the timeline, and nearly did! Both our memories were changed, making me live a new life from the start in another universe while you lived on without me… but we found a way back to each other.”

“I… is that true?”

“It is.”

“Yes, it is…”

“I’ve been around, and I can tell you, the multiverse? It’s full of madness. You managing to protect your childhood love to ensure that we could stand here today, that’s so incredible, baby. You did that.”

“How could I have forgotten about you? I never even told Vision…”

“Vision was a good man. Had he not perished, I would have gladly shared your heart with him. I don’t blame you for opening your heart to another when you didn’t remember me. You were always full of a lot of love to give, Wanda. But I’m sorry, he is not here anymore. This pocket world you made may not have held the real family you desired, but I believe we managed to start that family here.”

Wanda let out a shuddering breath, her eyes rolling back slightly as the pleasure of his proximity overrode the pain of her loss. She slumped against him, surrendering to the narrative he’d built for her. Vision was a hero who stepped aside. The twins were just a promise of what was to come. And Mark… Mark was the reality she had always craved.

“I can feel it…” she breathed, burying her face in his neck, kissing the skin there. “My kids, growing inside me…”

Mark blinked. Could she? Who knew? Womanly intuition or actually witchy magic. It didn’t matter.

“That’s right. That’s my good girl,” Mark murmured, looking over her head at Natasha and America.

Natasha gave him a knowing nod, America just grinned and gave a thumbs up, oblivious to the nuance but happy that the crying had stopped.

“Just don’t go using magic to shoot them onto the floor so quick again!” chuckled Agatha, “A girl can only hide so many magical stretch marks, ha!”

Mark turned.

The benevolent warmth he’d been radiating toward Wanda cut off like a severed power line. In its place, a heavy, suffocating pressure slammed into the space between them. His jaw set, his bulging muscles bunched under his skin as his eyes narrowed. He wasn’t looking at the potential mother of his children anymore. He was looking at the puppet master bitch who’d been pulling his strings.

“You.”

One second Agatha was tossing out snark, the next, he was on her.

Up close she was all sharp cheekbones, smeared makeup, and the stubborn glint of some know-it-all supervillainess. Her mouth was half-curled in a smirk.

“Careful, darling,” she started, “if you-”

His hand clamped onto her ass.

He took a full, greedy handful, fingers digging in, dragging her forward that last inch into him. Her breath caught right there, words cutting off.

He took her tiny breast with the other hand. He palmed it hard, fingers spreading, thumb raking across the nipple.

Agatha made a startled sound that tried to be a scoff and ended up half-moan. “Rude,” she managed, breath shortened.

“You remember how it felt, don't you? Wearing me like a cheap suit? Driving me around like I was just some... thing for you to use?”

Mark leaned in, his voice dropping to a rough, vibrating growl that shuddered straight through her chest. He ground his hips forward, letting the massive, arrogant root of his soft but thickening cock press firmly against her stomach.

“You treated me like a prop, Agatha. A mindless puppet for your little show. But you forgot one thing, witch... props don't fuck back. I do.”

His fingers flexed on her ass and between her legs, his thumb dragging a slow line over soft, sensitive skin. Her body answers: a hot rush, a traitorous shiver, nipple tightening against his palm.

She slowly shimmied against him, “Critique noted, darling. I always did say the third act needed more... thrust. A real climax.”

Agatha’s instincts were to twist, to joke, to slip out of the frame.

Except his power was riding every point of contact.

Mark could really feel it: so much easier when he was touching skin. His mutation threaded out of his hands like heat, seeping into her nervous system through every place he had her. Ass. Tits. Pussy. Skin is a doorway, and he had three wide open.

Not full rewrite. Not yet. He can taste her as she is.

She was still that bitch. The one who made Westview her stage. The one who wrapped his mind and body up like a present for herself.

They’re all like that now, he realized. Still themselves, still irritable and opinionated and weird. Just… tilted. Their inner compass has him at true north. They mostly believed the Thanos story because he’d said it. They feel the lie like truth because their bones have decided it makes more sense that way.

He hasn’t sculpted any of them back into their “original” secret Phoenix Kingdom versions.

Too much going on.

For now, he just wanted some fun **** on this Agatha. The original bitch. The one that almost ended him.

“Oh, there will be a climax,” Mark promised, his grip tightening on her breast until she gasped, the pain and pleasure spiking in her chest. “But you aren’t the director anymore, Agatha. You’re just… talent.”

He looked her up and down with a sneer that was equal parts lust and disdain.

“And frankly? You’re bad casting. You look too flat. Plain. If we’re going to keep you around for the spin-off, you need to look the part of a woman who knows her place is on her knees.”

“Mark? Is she bothering you, my love?” Wanda asked, her voice light but dangerous. She stepped up to Mark’s free side, wrapping her arms around his bicep and resting her cheek against his shoulder, staking her claim. “I can remove her mouth if she’s talking too much. Or I can turn her into a toad. A very quiet toad.”

Agatha swallowed hard, feeling the double pressure of Mark’s mental ownership and Wanda’s raw, unstable chaos magic radiating just inches away.

“A toad feels a bit… cliché, doesn’t it, Red?” Agatha tried, her voice a little higher than she intended. She tried to lean against Mark, using his body as a shield against his giant-titted girlfriend. “Besides, I think Mark likes my mouth just where it is.”

“She has a point, Wanda,” Mark said, though he didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes locked on Agatha’s smeared eyeliner. “A mouth is useful. But the rest of her? It’s boring. It’s too…”

“Deflated!” America chimed in happily. “Give her some real tittays, ese!”

He smirked and nodded at her even as he squeezed Agatha’s ass again, hard, shaking her a little.

“You tried to steal my story, Agatha. You tried to make this all about your power, your dignity. So I think it’s only fair we strip that away.” Mark smirked, a cruel, kingly expression. “Wanda, sweetheart? Do you remember those sexy Halloween costumes you made? How about ‘sultry sorceress’?”

Wanda’s expression shifted instantly from a bit of jealousy to wicked delight. She looked at Agatha, at her modest almost Victorian-seeming, blue and purple witch’s robes, collar up to her neck, her sharp frame, and smiled.

“Oh, I know exactly the type,” Wanda purred. She raised a hand, her fingers wiggling, red mist beginning to coil around Agatha’s feet. “The kind on the cheap plastic packages. All curves. No substance.”

“Exactly,” Mark agreed, his hand sliding from Agatha’s breast to her throat, tilting her head back so she had to look at him. “Agatha here is too fond of her own voice. Too fond of thinking she’s the smartest person in the room. I think she needs to look like a bimbo. A big, dumb, ridiculous cartoon of a witch.”

Agatha’s eyes widened. She felt the magic prickling at her skin, warring with the biological surrender Mark was forcing into her nerves.

“Now wait just a minute,” Agatha stammered, a nervous chuckle escaping her. “Let’s not be hasty. I have a very specific silhouette, it’s iconic, it’s-”

“It’s canceled,” Mark cut her off. He looked at Wanda. “Do it, babe. Rewrite her. I want her tits so big she knocks over potions when she turns around. I want an ass so fat she can’t sit on a broomstick without swallowing it whole. Make her look like a walking, talking sex parody.”

Wanda giggled, a sound of pure, malicious joy.

“With pleasure, honey.”

She thrust her hands forward.

“POOF!”

The sound was comical, like a party favor, but the **** of the magic was anything but. A wave of scarlet energy slammed into Agatha, but it didn't hit her skin. Not yet. It hit her clothes.

“First,” Wanda said, “the dignity has to go.”

Agatha gasped as her severe, throat-to-ankle vintage robes ignited in a flash of harmless but terrifying red flame. The high collar dissolved into sparks, the bodice vaporized, and the long, sweeping skirt that had hidden her form simply ceased to exist.

In the blink of an eye, the centuries-old witch was left stark naked in the middle of the street.

She froze, shivering not just from the cool Westview air but from the sudden, absolute exposure. Her pale, slender frame was laid bare for Mark, for Wanda, for the gathered crowd of citizens and agents. Which granted, many of them were just as naked but that was different. They were ants. She was a witch-queen. She tried to jerk her hands down to cover herself, but Mark’s grip on her arm and hip was iron-tight, holding her in place as a display piece.

Then, the full rewrite hit.

Agatha made a throaty, surprised sound as her body rebelled against physics. It wasn't a slow growth; it was a violent, magical eruption.

Mark felt it against his palm first. What was a handful becomes two. Her tits swell against his palm, flesh blossoming outward, heavy weight filling his grip, then overflowing it. Agatha looked down in horror as her chest ballooned outward and downward into heavy, sloshing mounds of soft flesh that surrendered to gravity immediately.

He kept his hands on them, riding the growth, thumbs brushing her nipples as they thickened and darkened into cork-sized protrusions, as the long pendulous mass developed. The new size meant they dropped, hanging from her chest all the way down to her belly button like living, swinging weights that promise motion every time she moves.

“My-mph-my back!” Agatha wheezed, but the magic wasn't done.

Her waist cinched in with a sickening crack of rewriting bone, shrinking to a cartoonishly tiny span, which only served to highlight the explosion happening below. Her hips widened with an audible pop, flaring out inches in a second, and her ass, her soft, practical backside, surged outward into a shelf of unparalleled proportions. It grew round, heavy, and immensely plush, two gigantic pillows of fat that jiggled with the slightest movement, turning her silhouette into a hyper-exaggerated hourglass that belonged on a late-night cable cartoon (in this universe anyway. In Mark’s, Natasha’s and America’s, this wasn't a parody. It was just normal. In their world, a frame like this wasn't a biological impossibility; it was the lush, heavy-set standard of beauty that made the stick-thin figures of this dimension look like starved sketches by comparison. Here she was a freak of physics; there, she would just be a particularly curvy woman walking down the street.)

“And... wardrobe!” Wanda chirped.

Red magic wove itself around the new, obscene topography of Agatha’s body, stitching together the trashiest, most revealing fantasy outfit imaginable.

Strips of cheap, shiny purple satin materialized over her massive new breasts, forming a bra that was more of a suggestion than a support. Black lace trimmed the edges, straining violently against the sheer volume of tit-meat trying to escape. A flimsy network of straps encircled her neck, barely holding the apparatus together.

Lower down, a ragged loincloth of matching purple fabric manifested, hanging loosely from a belt of silver chains and crescent moons that rested on her widened, child-bearing hips. The loincloth did absolutely nothing to hide the sides of her legs or the curve of her massive new butt cheeks; it merely flapped in the breeze, teasing the dark, unshaven triangle of pubic hair Wanda had graciously decided to leave for the aesthetic.

With a whoosh, a long, tattered cape attached itself to the straps at her shoulders. It was a deep, velvety violet and it swept down her back, trailing on the ground behind her, acting like a backdrop framing her curvy essentially bikini level clad body.

Finally, with a soft whump, a hat materialized out of thin air and dropped onto her head.

It was an enormous, floppy, crooked witch’s hat, wide-brimmed and dramatically pointed, made of the same tacky purple material. It slid down over her forehead, nearly obscuring her vision, forcing her to tilt her head back and look up at Mark from under the brim.

Agatha stood there, panting, her new center of gravity throwing her off balance. Her massive breasts heaved with every breath, threatening to spill out of the purple cups, and her gigantic ass bumped against Mark’s thigh, soft as dough. The cape fluttered around her, giving her the look of a villainess from a budget fantasy movie who had forgotten to put on the rest of her costume.

Agatha blinked. Once. Twice.

For a heartbeat, the sheer absurdity of it threatened to crush her: the swinging weight on her chest, the draft on her ass cheeks, the ridiculous purple brim obscuring her view. But Agatha Harkness had survived the Salem witch trials, the Darkhold, and centuries of hiding in plain sight. She didn’t break. She recalculated.

If this was the new game board, she would play it better than anyone else.

She took a deep breath, her massive new bosom heaving like a tidal wave, and pushed the floppy brim of her hat up with one finger. A slow, predatory smile curled her lips, not the smirk of a victim, but the grin of a woman who just realized she’d been handed a loaded weapon.

“My, my,” she purred, her voice dripping with sudden, syrupy confidence. She reached up, cupping the underside of her own breasts, hefting the incredible, sloshing weight of them as if weighing bags of gold. She turned her gaze to Wanda, her eyes narrowing with malicious amusement.

“You know, Red” Agatha drawled, looking pointedly at Wanda’s own enormous chest and then back down to her own gargantuan, vein-mapped udders in her hands. “For a hex meant to punish me, you’ve made a critical error.”

She let her heavy breasts drop with a heavy, wet slap against her ribs, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

“You just made me the only bitch in this town with tits bigger than yours.”

Wanda’s eyes flashed, her jaw tightening, but Agatha was already moving on. She turned her attention fully to Mark, pivoting her hips so her immense, shelf-like ass brushed heavily against his now lifting and swelling dick before turning again into him. She sank into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her new, soft curves envelope him.

The humiliation was gone, replaced instantly by the ruthless ambition of a climber who knows exactly whose pole she needs to grease.

“And you, darling,” she murmured, looking up at him through her lashes, ignoring the crowd, ignoring the draft, ignoring everything but the man who held her leash. She pressed her tits flat against his chest, suffocating him in soft, magical flesh. “You say I’m just ‘talent’ now? Fine. But every director has a favorite starlet. The one who stays late. The one who does anything to keep the lead role.”

She licked her lips, her voice dropping to a husky whisper meant only for him.

“Wanda is the wife, sure. But look at me, Mark. Look at what you made.” She ground her hips against him again, slow and deliberate. “I’m built for sin now. I’m built for you. So why don’t you take your new toy back to your star’s trailer and let me show you that I can handle a ‘climax’ better than she ever could?”

Mark snorted. Impressed. And she was hot as fuck now…Practically Captain Marvel levels of tit and ass… But No! She was a bitch. An EVIL bitch. He remembered what Markanda Mark had done to his Natasha just for being a proper hero trying to **** him and accidentally hitting that Wakandan Queen lady of his. Agatha WAY more deserved being treated like a disposable plaything.

“No…You’re just a prop, Agatha. A big, bouncy, brainless prop for the background. And props don't get to talk. They just get used.”

“Mar- Master, listen, I can be-”

He didn’t let her finish. He pivoted her by the hip and shoved her forward, not hard enough to knock her down, but hard enough to make her stumble and bounce, hat wobbling, tits swaying.

The square was full of people, nude agents and sexily costumed locals, but his eyes fell on an Asian hottie. Severe looking and of course, flat. Nude except for nipple piercings that caught the light like little silver fangs. She held a whip in one hand with calm, professional ownership, as if it was just another tool on a mission loadout.

“You.”

She stepped forward without haste. The whip shifted in her grip, the tip dragging a line in the pavement. Her eyes flicked down Agatha’s body with clinical assessment: the exaggerated tits that hang heavy and practically stick out a foot from her body, the wide hips, the enormous ass that wobbles when she breathes, the cheap purple straps cutting into soft flesh.

“Yes, sir,” she says, voice low and even.

“Get ten guys with the biggest dicks you can find. She’s going to service all of them. You’re in charge of her punishment, Miss…?

“Melinda May. Your Agent of SHIELD. And I understand, sir.”

“Oh, I love a woman with authority,” Agatha purred, trying to turn it into a game she can win. “Do you come with a safe word, dear?”

May didn’t smile. She didn’t even blink. Her hand lashed out but instead of a fist, her fingers clamped like a vice around one of Agatha’s large areolas, finding the thick, cork-like nub of her nipple through the thin, straining purple fabric.

She didn't just hold it; she twisted, hard, and pulled.

Agatha shrieked, the sound far less composed than her earlier purr, as May yanked her forward by the sensitive teat like an unruly dog on a **** chain. The massive breast stretched elastically, the heavy weight of it dragging Agatha off balance, forcing her to stumble after the smaller woman to relieve the searing pressure.

“You talk too much,” May said, her voice low and ice-cold.

She marched forward, dragging the whimpering, stumbling witch behind her. Agatha’s heels scraped on the pavement, her gigantic ass bumping into bystanders, her cape tangling in her legs, but May didn't slacken her grip on the tortured nipple for a second. To May, this wasn't sadism; it was efficiency. Mark gave an order, and she would execute it.

May stopped in the center of the gathering crowd, jerking Agatha to her knees with a final, sharp tug on her breast before releasing it

“Listen up,” May called out, her voice projecting clearly over the murmurs without needing to shout. She radiated the kind of authority that made people shut up and listen instantly.

She gestured to the heaving, humiliated mass of flesh kneeling beside her with the handle of her whip.

“If you have a large penis, gather round,” May announced, her voice flat and dangerous, cutting through the noise of the square like a knife.

She scanned the front row of men, her eyes narrowing, daring anyone to lie to her.

“Don't waste my time with anything less than six inches,” she warned, the whip twitching in her hand. “You'll regret it.”

Six inches? was Mark’s confused thought before he remembered that this was the universe of little dicks to go with the lack of curves. Six inches probably was a big deal here. Whatever. Agatha getting a train of such pathetic cocks was probably even better punishment.

It was quite amusing to watch from afar. Here he was, in just a quiet provincial town of regular average Joes and Joesettes. The closest you can get to normie white culture outside of travelling back to the 50s (though everyone had had enough of doing that) and now he got to witness that sanctified puritanism become completely corrupted by his presence. Men were gallantly and readily stripping their pants down for Agent May and baring all with little care for shame nor social standings. If anything, the women around them that would normally be horrified by such an act were looking on with pride at their ‘well-hung’ brothers of the Phoenix Kingdom.

It wasn’t long before a bevy of balls were hanging around the faceline of the buxom witch. Agatha refused to stop her showmanship, not crouching but squatting with legs wide and soaked pussy on full display; aiming right at her King.

The collection of men stood with arms behind their back, cocks ready to be stroked upon Melinda’s orders. She examined the dozen or so men, eyeing their resolve as well as their sizes to see if they were ready to serve.

“Fitz, put your trousers back on.” She growled as she walked.

“B-but-!”

“I know it’s over six, but that girth is pathetic. Simmons may have been fine with pencil dick before becoming Mark’s, but this punishment needs real men.”

Leopold Fitz looked somewhat dejected, not because of the lack of sex but because he couldn’t serve his master as much as he’d want. After glancing over to his king, he quietly asked Melinda, “D-do you think Master Mark’s gonna like Jemma’s twat being so tight still?”

“Have you seen that beast between his legs? All of us are gonna be a tight fit to that huge cock.” She shot back, before jutting her thumb out, “Now get.” she then snapped her other fingers to a portly man, “You too, tubby.”

“So much effort for little ol’ me,” Agatha tittered from her floor space, “Is the waiting supposed to be the punishment? Cause as long as I can see Mark, I can do this all day~.”

For as much as he hated her, Mark was an easy man at heart. Seeing this busty supermodel start mime suck off his cock with a slight deranged depravity in her eye, he couldn’t deny a slight interest in it. A fact that Wanda quickly picked up on, as she grabbed his face and gently moved it away from the multi-man maelstrom.

“Mark…” Wanda spoke with a breathy needy voice, lips a mere inch from Mark’s own, “Don’t even bother watching her, be here with me. Please. I need you so much…”

His torso was softly wrapped from behind from another pair of hands, “I need you too,” said America, “I can’t believe I almost lost you. I’m aching so much just seeing your dick again, Mark…”

Mark grinned wide, having these two strong multiversal threats **** and begging for his dick certainly felt good after all the shit he’d gone through, “Alright, let’s show our new subjects how a King fucks his Queens.” He tugged at their clothes, prompting them both to start stripping quickly, “Nat, get in here.”

“Mark… it’s a whole town, we should deal with your safety, and there’s a lot to get a handle on before…” she tried to argue, but it was mostly against herself. Nat’s own lust and love were at full capacity as her dream man reached his hand out towards her, “Fuck it. Make room.”

The three of them quickly descended their mouths upon him at various angles.

Wanda was insistent on claiming his face. One hand cupping his cheeks as she locked him close to her, while the other gripped his dick base and lightly stroked up and down his shaft’s upper half. Natasha’s fingers took the lower half, hugging close while she kissed at Mark’s left nipple. All while America wrapped herself around Mark’s right side, kissing his neck, rubbing her cunt against his hip, all while massaging his new muscles.

Mark had his arms wrapped around Nat and America, fingering them lightly while he let the girls take point in pleasuring him. So much soft flesh eagerly rubbing against him, all while the town watched on with a look of pride like he was the headliner music act of a concert. It really felt like his reward for having to struggle through the chaos and magic hell of Westview. Even with all his new toys to play with, it was important to treat the girls that had saved him, protected him, love him.

And oh how they loved him.

It was hard for any of them to peel themselves away from Mark. Every taste, touch, and smile he sent their way sent zings of pleasure coursing through their ovaries. Nipples hardened, clits throbbed, and the hunger to have his cockhead go a few rounds boxing their cervix grew ever more.

The town around them looked on in awe. Mark’s natural instinct to increase the amount of mental effects on Wanda was also coursing through their collective veins too. Loyalty, trust, and lust: A Mark Williams Cocktail of emotions.

Yet, even without the mind control, it was hard not to be impressed with the imagery on display.

Thanks to Wanda’s magic, Mark had taken the proverbial super soldier serum and his new stalwart muscular physique looked just like the statues in the museum of Steve Rogers’ first time escaping that legendary chamber. A body that would be fairly tame from the dorito torso’d gods of his home universe, but here was sculpted to legendary level.

And this was to say nothing of the one organ that had remained unchanged, yet pulled the most amount of focus from all eyes around. To most of the average men and women around the town square, his dick looked fictitious in length. Like a teenager’s drawing with no qualms for genetic inaccuracy. Yet there it was. A huge pillar of leaking meat that looked like it could breed the town and still have juice for more. Getting fondled by the only two female Avengers pre-2018, and some hot latina.

Mark enjoyed the power of everyone staring at him. He’d seen how much the Markanda Mark variant revelled in his position, and after all he’d gone through it felt right to finally be seeing some recognition for his struggles. Everyone was obsessed with every little reaction he gave. His dick twitched and the whole town gasped. He groaned and several dozen people mentally noted what caused it. His hand squeezed at two non-congruent breasts and he could tell many men wanted to be him while many women wanted to be with him. It was a good day for Mark.

But with all the pleasure being thrown at him, Mark couldn’t focus on his new town too long. He dare not be passive in pleasing his paramours.

“Line up girls,” Mark ordered, snapping his fingers while pointing down.

“L-line up?” asked Wanda. “How do you mean?”

“Wanda,” said Nat, already in position next to America like they’d done it a thousand times before, “Like this… Present arms… or rather assets”

She dropped into a forward bend, legs locked straight, back arched so deeply her spine created a perfect valley leading to the twin peaks of her ass. Wanda blinked, then a flush of submissive understanding hit her cheeks. She hurried to the other side of America, smoothing her red skirt up to her waist to bare herself.

All three bent at the waist, looking over their shoulders towards Mark, three distinct flavors of superheroine ass primed and ready for him to do as he pleased.

On the left, Natasha Romanoff. The Soviet Assassin turned Avenger. Her skin was porcelain-pale and flawless, her ass shaped by decades of ballet and combat, big, incredibly firm, and heart-shaped. It was a weapon of seduction, tight and disciplined, the pink pucker of her asshole twitching with trained anticipation.

In the center, America Chavez. The Multiversal Powerhouse. Her skin was a rich, glowing caramel, and her build was thicker, meatier. Her ass was a heavy, muscular shelf that practically dared you to slap it, quivering with restless energy. She didn't just present; she wiggled, her dark, wet slit glistening against her tan thighs.

On the right, Wanda Maximoff. The Scarlet Witch. Her rewrite had turned her into a fertility goddess. Her skin was milky and flushed pink, her ass softer, wider, and plushier than the others, two massive, doughy mounds of cushion meant for breeding, vibrating with low-level chaos magic that made the air around her hips shimmer.

Their ample rumps were lined up in glorious sequence, a buffet of the multiverse’s finest meat. Legs slightly apart, smiles beaming back at him, and three distinct, soaking wet pussies weeping nectar onto the pavement.

All it took was a snap of his fingers and the most powerful women around submitted to his every whim with eager wanton need.

He ran his fingers along the artwork. Tracing pale spy cheeks, then chocolate multiversal rump, before ending on pale witch rear. Each shuddered at his mere touch. The longest royal pipe any had seen, some townsfolk were wondering how any of the women in front of him would even survive such an intensely sized rager.

Each shuddered at his mere touch. Six heavy, pendulous breasts: Natasha’s perky, gravity-defying huge globes; America’s heavy, teardrop naturals; Wanda’s massive, sloshing milk-jugs, jiggled in a hypnotic, chaotic rhythm for all the town to see.

Mark smirked, feeling the anticipation getting to him but wanting one last action to take place before his plunge. “You! Guy who filmed my speech!” He barked at the nearby male who jumped at the sudden pointing, “No more live streaming, but I do want home videos for me fucking these three lovely ladies. Get your camera back out and film me!”

“Yes, sir!” the man eagerly agreed, fumbling with his boner ridden trousers to scoop out his phone.

Mark then addressed the crowd, “Everyone else may masturbate at their leisure. Just direct your semen to either the ground or that evil witch over there.”

With his minions appropriately fumbling with their pants, it was time for him to finally fuck the fine females in front of him. In turn they all got a taste of his cockhead at their entrance. A mighty smear of boiling precum to mark their slits as his territory, waiting for him to choose the first chosen disciple of his full length.

In the end, he went for as close as he could get to all three at once.

“OOHH! Fuck yes, MARK!” America groaned out as she got the long white cock she’d been dreaming of for days. Each slam of his prick sending waves of heat up her body. She may have indulged in so many spy women, but nothing could compare to getting properly stretched out by your master, “Y-you’re the only one that can bully my lesbian womb properlyyyy!”

She was certainly the most vocal, but her groans were in stereo with the other two girls next to her.

Nat and Wanda were getting expertly fingered by their dream man. His digits diving deep, swirling their juices around and making them squirm from his touch. Mark’s rhythm being twice the speed of his America fucking, stroking their insides twice as fast as he could shift his hips. Their superhero slits were just putty to his ministrations.

The cameraman was making sure to get all of it. He’d never been much of an angles guy, but he was doing his best to capture as much dynamism for his master as he could. 4K, as many frames as possible, it didn’t matter if he was filling up his phone’s memory he needed to record Mark’s moment of glory. He would edit the video to show all the juices spraying from the three women’s cunts in slow motion if he had to. The only thing slowing him down was how aroused by the scene he was. His dick pulsing angrily in his pants as he zoomed in Mark switching from America’s winking pussy to fuck Wanda so very deeply.

“MM! OH G-GOD!” groaned Wanda, her original Sokovian accent slipping in to her voice as she felt Mark’s cock stretch her, “FUCK YEAH! I’M YOUR SCARLET WHORE, MMMAAARRRKKK!”

Mark couldn’t lie, Wanda’s insides felt damn good. She’d rearranged her own interiors to be perfectly sized for his cock, squeezing tightly around him while still being exactly the right size to take his full length to the base. Reality magic was one hell of a tool for making epic sluts.

Wanda was struggling to stand. Had she really gone years without this man inside her? Had she really forgotten the pure bliss that was being stretched to perfection? She had so many regrets–including not being the one to pop that purple pimple from outer space Thanos–but one by one they were humped out of her mind by every titanic thrust from her lover. Her flesh and blood king. Making her quake in pleasure better than any one or thing had before. Wanda loved her childhood friend Mark with all her heart, she’d love him in sickness and health, for better or worse, the fact he was a ripped stud with a huge dick was just a delicious boon.

As Mark started switching over to Natasha, he took a moment to gaze upon the wonderful view of the town all masturbating to him. They weren’t exactly prime Markandan specimens, but what they were… were his. So many every day citizens that would worship the ground he stood on. An abundance of well trained spies who had spent years training their bodies to now become his dedicated vanguard. He looked proudly at his accomplishments while his cock dove into Natasha’s pussy.

Wanda having already teleported right next to her so she could still get fingered.

Natasha was so happy to be alive. Mark’s thick breeding stick was once more inside her and felt bigger than ever. There had been so many times she thought it would be better to be dead–to listen to the nation she called home–but right now? She was so important to the man she loved that he evolved new powers just to resurrect her. His manly hands cupping her sides as he treated her hole like a prime piece of meat.

Mark just continued to fuck to his heart’s content. His new and healthy revised heart, to go along with his jacked body that had been changed through Wanda’s magic. It had happened sometime during the show to go along with his role as lover, but to him he just returned to a body that felt better than ever. Rejecting years of junk food and inactivity besides sitting around wanking before that day Ororo entered his room. He hadn’t been a slouch, in fact he’d gotten really good at cardio just from all the rutting he did around New York, but now he felt like he could actually go for a run without wishing for ****. Reality warping cheats were the best~

Due to this new change, Mark went for ages as he rotated around the girls. Fucking their needy tight slits as hard as he wanted before going down the line to the next one. Each hole a little different in texture and design but all incredibly hot and wet for him.

And it wasn’t just those three. His new followers were filling the town’s quaint quiet vibe with a sultry haze of pheromonal heat. Everywhere you looked there was someone masturbating to Mark. Spread legs on benches, crawling along the grass, spilling seed and juice wherever they stood before returning right back to stroking themselves.

Mark had always wanted to corrupt his town like this back home, many universes ago. He dreamed of walking out into the middle of his street with his pants completely removed, showing off his mutant gift before he even knew its power, and letting the sluts of his neighborhood gather around him through sheer desire. That tight blonde runner who always jiggled too early in the morning stopping in her tracks to come suck his nuts. His demure Christian redhead neighbor with the freckles coming out of her house with her mom ready to worship his dick like a divine rod. Even his curvy mom coming out to declare that dad would never touch her again when she had a son like that in her house. It was such a vivid fantasy that he’d stroked to a bunch of times. This town, this Westview, it reminded him of that little slice of Americana he’d rejected for superior superhero sluts. Corrupting his routes like this felt good. Maybe Markanda was grander in scope with a much more marketable name, but this Mark liked his new town to play with.

He’d gotten lost in his fantasy and hadn’t realised he was getting close to cumming. All three heroes were clearly overstimulated from his fucking, looking like they could barely stand anymore from his veracious pounding.

“Faces front and center!” He barked, taking his dick in hand and pumping rapidly along the juiced meat.

Wanda, Natasha, and America didn’t need to be told twice. Spinning around to kneel on the ground in a line, mouths widely open with tongues hanging out to await their blessed Mark seed.

The first rope was whipped across the bridge of their noses, seeping deep into their skin as he marked his territory. Wanda got the first real taste of his semen, getting a huge blast of it across her tongue and into the back of her throat, had it not been for her removing her own gag reflex she may have struggled there, but instead Wanda just moaned and shuddered while chugging as much jizz as she could. America got the next focus, with it smearing more over her face. Mark knew how much the ex-lesbian loved to be dripping in his cum, her chocolate skin painted in his pure white seed. And lastly Nat, whose favourite position was to be the last to get Mark’s cum. It meant she got to be the one to suck the last of his nut out his cock, both making her feel useful while also knowing that Mark was likely to ‘accidentally’ send an order to make her cum through the skin-to-skin contact.

All the loving nut shots were captured by the man with the phone perfectly. He’d already thought of exactly the kind of music he wanted to add to the scene to make the montage of sexy shots watched for years to come.

Mark panted, taking a step back to admire his handwork on the three sluts. They all smiled at him, even while their mouths were oozing with his sauce. So much power was his to command.

Though then something strange happened… Mark’s stomach made a noise.

Grrrrr!_

With all the excitement finally letting him breathe, no one was expecting a grumble to come from Mark’s stomach of all things.

“Hehe… guess it is breakfast time,” admitted a slightly embarrassed Mark…

“What does he want?!” Called a man from the back of the crowd.

“We’ll get you anything you want!” called a woman.

“Anything!”

Wanda giggled, standing up as the other two girls began to clean each other of jizz, “I could also use magic to make you some food, but they seem rather eager to please, don’t they?”

“Oh, the life of a King,” he chuckled back with a faux shrug, turning away from her briefly to address the crowd, “Just get us all a buffet of stuff! And make it snappy!”

“And have some of it be pourable! I want Mark to lick something sweet off me!” added Wanda, taking to her role quickly.

The crowd of onlookers that weren’t involved in the Agatha affair quickly got to work, some rushing to nearby shops or homes to try and find a suitable enough array of food for their King. A couple of leaders quickly emerged as they barked orders at the regular folk. Mark didn’t recognise them, but was happy to ignore the whole thing as he went back to tonguing Wanda’s teeth.

Meanwhile, the angrier mob had finally descended upon the wrathful witch.