Royal Gamers [pt. II]: Spider-Woman

Jessica Drew moved with confident, fluid grace through the ornate halls of the Royal Palace, her tray of beers balanced effortlessly in her hand. Her hips swayed with such exaggerated rhythm that it almost seemed like her spine was disconnected from them, each step a deliberate, entrancing performance.

Her body naturally commanded attention.

Every curve—from the full swell of her hips to her narrow waist and ample breasts—was highlighted by her barely-there uniform. The French maid outfit, if it even qualified as one, was more suggestion than clothing. Tiny strips of cloth draped in the front and back, barely covering anything, making her black thong more visible. The fabric rode high on her hips, disappearing between her full buttocks with each sway, leaving the vast majority of her generously shaped backside on display.

Above, her wildly jiggling chest was adorned with just silver nipple piercings and a delicate chain linking them. Each step sent the chain swaying gently against her skin. Her breasts jiggled with every exaggerated step, naturally drawing the eye.

Jessica’s face was equally captivating, framed by thick, dark waves cascading down her back. Her crimson lips stood out against her flawless skin, and her intense, expressive eyes held a glint that could cut through anyone’s defenses.

The palace around her was a maze of opulence—amber hues gleaming beneath golden sunlight streaming through intricately patterned windows that made up the wall to the left. Soft light and shadow played across the polished floor beneath her feet. The wall to the right bore subtle, angular designs reminiscent of Markandan art, and the air felt rich with the scent of incense and hibiscus.

The normally loud clack of Jessica’s high heels went silent on the luxurious carpet as she made her way to the Royal Suite. Lush greenery in planters brought a vibrant touch of nature to the gold-tinged hall. Sunlight caught on her tray, making the beers shimmer invitingly—but Jessica’s focus was singular. This was not just a delivery. It was an opportunity, a chance to be seen by the man who ruled Markanda, and Jessica intended to make every movement count.

Passing through the corridors, Jessica noted the other palace maids—full-time, Markandan-born women, with dark skin and African features, all dressed in attire as equally or more revealing than her own. Their pussies were blatantly exposed, the smooth, dark folds visible between their thighs, as though the very concept of modesty had been abandoned entirely. Jessica couldn’t help but notice the intimate details, their bare black tits and exposed sex on display as they moved with practiced ease. Some of the maids wore nothing but waist aprons or lace chokers, their bare black tits swaying as freely as their alternately wide, shelf like protruding globes or their tight round athletic glutes.

Jessica’s eyes remained ahead, her attention fixed on her destination, but she was well aware of the eyes that followed her. The maids, the practically nude brawny Royal Guards, even the subtle hum of advanced surveillance—everything in Markanda was watching, always aware. She had been here long enough to understand the implications of every glance and the weight behind each gaze.

Unlike the full-time maids, Jessica, like many well-connected women in Markanda, could use her influence to volunteer in the palace. It was a privilege—a chance to be close to the King, to be seen by him, to perhaps even experience him. This was her day off from the Hatut Zeraze and she'd pulled strings to ensure she could spend it as a maid in the palace.

Her role as a Hatut Zeraze operative, a War Dog, a War Bitch, part of Markanda’s secretive and deadly intelligence service, made her far more than just a maid. She was one of the elite, trusted to spy on Markanda’s enemies, eliminate threats, and protect the nation from those who sought to undermine it. She carried out her duties with efficiency and loyalty, devoted to the safety of the nation—and to Mark, whose vision for the future had utterly transformed her life.

A part of her still found this strange, the new normal that was life in Markanda. Here, there was no second-guessing, no hesitance or doubt in her purpose. The days of feeling like an outsider, even among the Avengers, were far behind her. That sense of never quite fitting in had been replaced by something stronger, something deeper. Purpose.

That purpose thrummed through her now, more vivid than it had ever been. Here in Markanda, she didn’t need to fight for trust, didn’t need to justify her existence. She was seen. Accepted. And for someone who had spent much of her life on the fringes—used, manipulated, replaced by Skrulls, then blamed for things beyond her control—it was like a balm to her soul.

She could easily pass for a mutant, and with her powers—super strength, venom blasts, wall-crawling, her pheromones—she wasn’t above letting people believe that she was. There was a certain cachet to being perceived as part of the mutant elite in Markanda, and Jessica wasn’t too good to trade on that perception when it suited her. Today, she intended to ensure that every move she made brought her closer to that goal.

Two imposing, essentially nude Black Royal Guards stood on either side of the Royal Suite doors. Their muscled bodies glistened under the light, their impressive (for humans), flaccid endowments hanging freely beneath minimal armor accessories and short red capes, their boots planted firmly as they guarded the entrance. As Jessica approached, one of them stepped forward with practiced precision, opening the door for her and she passed through.

Jessica’s gaze flickered across the room.

The Street Fighter holographic fighters still bounced impatiently hovering in the air, waiting for someone to press the next button. But the games were long forgotten. Spyke and Sunspot stood entirely naked, their lean, athletic bodies on full display, while Jubilee, lucky and already pregnant, flaunted her curvy figure in that yellow bodystocking. Meanwhile, Mark, fully clothed, lounged on the couch, watching it all unfold, his casual air of authority unmistakable.

Her eyes lingered on Spyke and Sunspot's bare butts as they shifted under Jubilee's skilled attentions, her hands stroking their thick, mature cocks. Both boys were slim and athletic, not the bulging bruiser types like Colossus or Luke Cage, but their dicks? They told a different story. Thick, heavy shafts with full, pendulous balls that looked more suited to middle-aged studs or hulking giants. The kind of genitals that, if seen anywhere else, would have made you do a double-take.

It was almost surreal, watching their lithe, youthful bodies sporting those impressive cocks. The way their hefty nuts hung beneath them, low and full, drooping with the weight of their virility. Both mutants carried them with the kind of easy confidence that came with knowing they were superior. And Jessica knew, from living in Markanda, that all mutant men were like that—every single one of them. It wasn’t just these two.

She had seen plenty of dick since coming here, both mutant and human. And she had to admit, the human guys? They didn’t quite stack up. Other than the Royal Guard, who were rumored to have had their members enhanced by Shuri’s technology when they joined up, human genitals seemed... underwhelming by comparison. It wasn’t just size. It was presence, it was power. Mutants simply outclassed them in every way, their superiority reinforced in every interaction, every glance.

Jessica couldn’t help but admire the way their bodies moved, the way their impressive shafts pulsed under Jubilee’s expert hands. Even now, after months in Markanda, the sight of these mutant men still caught her attention. She knew it wasn’t just a biological fact, but something deeper—their power, their presence, their genetic superiority. It was undeniable, and it stirred something primal in her.

Her thoughts, however, couldn’t help but drift back to Roger. A former villain turned **** hero, Roger had always been... well, complicated. In his forties, a man who had lived a life full of mistakes and second chances, Roger had somehow managed to do something that no one else in Jessica’s life had ever quite pulled off—he’d knocked her up.

That memory still held a strange, bittersweet sting. Roger’s cock, a short, pale thing, had never been particularly impressive—not compared to the magnificent mutant cocks she now surrounded herself with. She could admit it to herself now, in moments of brutal honesty: she’d only really found Roger’s cock attractive when she was really in the mood, when the lights were dim, and she was willing to look past the realities of their flawed, on-again, off-again relationship. His penis, like the man himself, had always been a bit of a funny contradiction—capable, but not quite the hero she truly needed.

And yet, somehow, his insignificant little organ had been the one to plant its seed in her, leaving her pregnant with a child. A human child. It annoyed her sometimes, more than she cared to admit. Her womb was supposed to be a sacred vessel, destined to carry the offspring of powerful mutants, to help grow the future of Markanda. Instead, it had mindlessly hoovered up Roger’s seed, and now she was the mother of a child that, in her deepest thoughts, she felt was a human weed—a child who, though loved, was not the strong mutant tree or magnificent mutant flower she should have borne.

Her son, though precious in his own way, would never measure up to the future she dreamed of—a future where her body, her womb, would bring forth mutant children, powerful and worthy of the world she now served. She had a household of Markandan servants to care for him, many of them women with milk filled big fat tits who could feed him, care for him, tend to his every need. He was loved, but it wasn’t the life she had envisioned for herself. Roger’s seed, however small and insignificant, had changed that. And yet, she loved her child, in that complex, contradictory way she had always loved Roger—though now, she wished for more.

Her gaze returned to Spyke and Sunspot’s twitching cocks as Jubilee worked them with her hands and mouth. Mark watched them as he lounged on the couch, his presence dominating the room. The King’s enormous cock was still concealed beneath his sweatpants, but it was an unspoken truth that it was the greatest of all—larger, more powerful than anything else here. It wasn’t even a contest.

Jessica’s mind wandered back, her memory flickering to the time before she had fully embraced her place in this world. She had been part of the Avengers, once. There had been a time when she, alongside Captain America, Thor, Captain Marvel, Falcon, Hawkeye, Wasp, and Spectrum, had thought they could challenge King Mark. A foolish thought in hindsight, but at the time, they had believed they were doing the right thing. They’d stormed into Markanda, confident in their strength, their unity, thinking they could end his reign.

But Mark had defeated them. Easily.

She could still remember the battle—if you could even call it that. Mark had brushed them aside like they were nothing, contemptuously showing them just how powerful he was. They hadn’t even been close to winning. He was in complete control from the start, his mastery over his powers so absolute that the Avengers’ combined might barely registered as a threat. It had been humiliating, frustrating, and infuriating. But now, in hindsight, Jessica could look back on it with a strange fondness, even longing.

After their defeat, the Avengers had been subjected to months of public penance. The Avenger Games. At the time, Jessica had been a mess—****, trying to escape, trying to resist. She had clawed and fought against the inevitability of it all, refusing to accept her fate. She had been crazy, she could admit that now. That version of herself was so... ungrateful. She hadn’t understood what Mark was offering her, what she had the chance to experience.

Now, looking back, she cursed herself for being pregnant at the time. She had been denied the King’s seed, unable to nurture it the way she longed to. The penance, the public displays—they had been a punishment then, but now she realized they had been an opportunity. She had spent weeks, months, alongside the Avengers, performing for the people of Markanda, **** to kneel at the King’s feet, to worship him in ways that now made her heart race. And she had missed her chance.

Back then, she hadn’t been able to offer herself to Mark, hadn’t been able to fully embrace her role as his servant, as his lover, because of the human growing inside her. A weed that had taken up space in her womb, robbing her of the chance to carry something far more precious—Mark’s child.

She could have had his seed inside her back then. But she hadn’t. And now, months later, she had to compete with his harems—dozens, no, hundreds of women, each as beautiful, each as eager as she was, all of them vying for the chance to carry the King’s children. Some were even superior to her, not in beauty, but in power. The mutant women of Markanda were breathtaking, their powers making them stand out, making them more desirable.

Only Carol, of all the Avengers, had managed to secure a permanent spot as one of Mark’s true favorites. Captain Marvel—strong, beautiful, and indomitable—had been the King’s focus throughout the Avenger Games. It wasn’t really a surprise. Carol had always been powerful, always the leader, the one who stood out. Jessica, Monica, Janet—they had often been cast as supporting characters in Carol’s downfall. Bridesmaids, essentially, as the King conquered the invincible Captain Marvel.

But it didn’t matter. Jessica knew what she wanted now. She didn’t dwell on the past, on the missed opportunities. She had Mark’s attention now, and when the time came, she would be ready. She would carry his child. She would fulfill her destiny.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as Mark’s gaze settled on her, and her heart raced. This was what it was all for. The waiting, the yearning.

She was ready.