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King of Wakanda update
🕑 Added 2018-02-08 17:46:42 +0000 UTCMonica Lynne had had enough. She’d really just had enough.
Ten years ago, in college, she’d dated T’Challa as he was educated abroad. It had been love; she wouldn’t deny that. But T’Challa’s love for her would never outweigh his duty to the crown, and they had ended it.
Which hadn’t stopped multitudes of T’Challa’s enemies from striking at her to get to him, involving her in all kinds of sinister plots and T’Challa’s counterplots, regular as clockwork, until she’d spent more time as a pawn in one of T’Challa’s damned Chess games than she ever had as his lover.
It was interminable.
And a week ago she’d been scooped once up more by the Dora Milaje. Secured in the royal palace to be kept safe from Wakanda’s enemies. A generous, loving act of protectiveness on T’Challa’s part.
She was so goddamned sick of it she could scream.
Leaving her room—her faithful Dora escorts Aneka and Ayo trailing behind her—she marched herself up to T’Challa’s office. She imagined he had left instructions she was to be permitted access night and day, otherwise she would never have gotten that far. She reached the huge double doors that opened into the larger-still office—never let it be said that Wakandans were ones for false modesty—and found them locked.
She could hear someone inside, speaking, but his nasal voice bore little resemblance to T’Challa’s deep baritone. She leaned her ear closer to hear what was being said.
“Easy, easy—Shuri, it’s empty, okay, I promise—“
Monica heard a feminine voice trilling on in the Wakandan language, which she had never learned, but evidently the man either understood it or just liked the way it sounded.
“Hey, you’ve got to stop talking like that, you’re making me horny again…”
Monica banged an angry fist on the door as Aneka and Ayo stood there, radiating discomfort.
“T’Challa! Open this door right now! I need to talk to you! I’m not staying cooped up in this goddamn hellhole another minute without a damned good explanation!”
She heard the intercom beside the door frizzle. “Uh, yeah… let her in.”
The door unlocked and opened and Monica saw her almost sister-in-law Shuri standing beside that monolithic desk of T’Challa’s. But sitting behind it was a skinny white boy who could not be out of college.
“Hey!” Monica called, stampeding into the office like she owned the place. “What the hell is this? Who are you? What the fuck is going on here?”
“Nothing!” Shuri said, too innocently, and Monica gave her a withering glare. She self-consciously adjusted her clothes.
“I’m Peter Parker,” the boy said. “T’Challa left me in charge.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No, I’ve asked.”
“T’Challa—the king of Wakanda—picks me up in the middle of the night, flies me halfway around the world, sticks me in a safe house ‘for my own good,’ and then he leaves without a word?”
“I, uh…” Peter said haltingly. “I think something came up.”
Monica just growled, head bowed, wondering how she could ever have been in love with such a goddamn prat.
“Ladies—I mean, other ladies,” Peter said, “could you give us a minute?”
Shuri and the Dora Milaje left the room, Shuri moving quickly—if a little bowlegged, Monica noticed.
Peter got up and stepped around the desk as the doors shut and locked. “Listen, I’m in the same boat. T’Challa just seemed to point at me and say I was the guy. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to be here anymore than you do. But T’Challa’s a good guy… he wouldn’t do all this if there wasn’t a plan, if it weren’t the right thing to do…”
“At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself,” Monica said.
With Peter out from behind the desk, she could see the thick outline of his prick forming a bulge on the inside of his thigh. It was plain to see he was still excited from something that’d been going on… and with T’Challa’s sister, too.
“Ha!” Monica barked a laugh. It served T’Challa right. “You’re right. T’Challa is a good guy. But more and more, I wish he was a good man.”
Peter obviously didn’t know what to say to that. He hemmed and hawed, shifting his weight on his heels. “So, you’re from the States, too?”
“Yes. I’m Monica Lynne. T’Challa seems fascinated by us Yanks, doesn’t he?”
“I suppose so.”
Monica walked by him, sitting on the desk, the small impropriety something she never would’ve done if T’Challa was in residence. It felt good to defy him in some meaningless way; to do something that didn’t fit into his master plan.
And Peter sat down beside her, seeming to share in her glee at not participating in their own manipulation for a moment. “Hey, look. I know this is bullshit and you don’t deserve it. But I’ve been in T’Challa’s shoes, sorta. If someone I loved was in danger, I’d do whatever I could to protect them. But I’d also hate to have to protect them in the first place—to get them involved that seriously. It’s why I’m sort of a loner.”
Monica remembered Shuri. Such a serious woman, but even in her unease at Monica’s entrance, she’d seemed to be smiling. “Yes, I could see that.”
Peter didn’t know how to take that either. “So if there’s anything I can do to make your stay here more comfortable, anything at all—well, I am the king.”
Monica leaned back, thrusting her full, rounded breasts out. When she did it, she noticed Peter giving them a quick glance. He averted his eyes and clapped his hands on his knees, squeezing them there.
“Answer me one question,” Monica said. “Don’t you ever wish T’Challa ever took an L?”
“I don’t get what you mean. I mean, do I look like a sports guy?”
Monica smiled. “He’s always so smug, with these big chess plays that always work out just right. And that’s good, but just once, I’d like one of his master plans to blow up in his face. I’d like him to get beaten down. I’d like him to have his ass in a sling for a while. You know what I mean?”
“Not really? I mean, kinda.” Peter cracked his knuckles. “But T’Challa’s pretty much a ‘fate of the world’ guy these days, so if he lost, Boston would probably blow up. And I like Boston. They make good cream pies.”
“I bet you could make a pretty good one yourself,” Monica said.
Then, knowing it was now or never, she hopped down off the desk and knelt before him, spreading his legs. Quickly, she unzipped his jeans—out flopped his huge, mildly erect cock. She took it all in at a glance, barely prepared for its thick, potent size, the foreskin that collared the purpling head, the darkly colored veins that ran over its long length. Then she buried her nose in his musky-smelling pubic hair, mouthing the contours of his shaft with her pursed lips.
“What the fuck!?” Peter demanded, frozen with shock. He’d just gotten used to the idea that Black Panther had a steady girlfriend and now her face was jammed in his crotch. It took him a stunned moment to be able to gain some control of his body—he pushed Monica away. “Are you crazy?”
Monica wasn’t at all surprised by his reaction. She’d thought of doing this, thought of him doing that, and then decided that it didn’t matter. She was going through with it.
She slipped her blouse down, revealing her perfectly formed breasts, tipped with dark burgundy nipples.
“Oh my God!” Peter cried, still unable to believe this was happening. “You… you’re T’Challa’s girl!”
“Bullshit!” Monica spat. “Don’t give me that high school crap. I stopped being his girl when he dumped me, and I sure as hell stopped being his girl when he started hauling me around the globe like some dumb sidekick because he didn’t want some foo’ calling himself the Man-Ape to get me. Now I’m going to show him just how not his girl I am.”
Standing up, she thrust her breasts into his face. Even as he opened his mouth to protest, his lips brushed along the silky texture of her cleavage; his eyes became riveted on the creamy smoothness of her coffee-colored skin. He could even smell her pussy; somehow it made him think of cinnamon, slightly acrid, mostly sweet.
Peter raised his arms to push her away, but as he pressed out with them, she grabbed his wrists and he found his hands cupping her breasts, his palms burning against the satin of her mounds, the raised indentations of her areolas, the delicate spring of her nipples. His cock was standing out ramrod straight, as if half a liter of his cum weren’t swimming here or there in Shuri’s anatomy.
“Can I suck your dick, Peter Parker?” she asked quietly, which paradoxically made her words ring all the louder in his ears. “Can I suck the dick of the King of Wakanda—the only King of Wakanda who’ll ever get to come in my mouth?”
“Yes,” Peter heard himself answer, his lips moving over her left nipple as he spoke. It slipped between his teeth, touched the roof of his mouth—throbbing from there to where his lips closed on its base. “I mean, no!”
He pulled away, unbalancing himself, and falling onto his back on the desk, his lower body still mostly hanging off the edge.
“Try and stop me,” Monica said, slowly dropping to her knees. Peter was frozen by the sight of her drawing closer and closer to his member, until she was clutching it, pulling it down from its aim at the ceiling.
“Monica, please, think about your relationship,” he began, his voice trailing off into a whimper as he felt her hot, sucking mouth land on his glans. “I know you’re mad at T’Challa, but do you really want to…” The pressure of her mouth, warm, sweltering, moved down his cockhead to his crown. “Suck me… it isn’t right… you can’t… ever… take it out…” She kept going down his shaft, inch by inch, as her tongue dug under his foreskin. The sensitive, tender touch threw Peter’s head back in ecstasy. “Unhhhhh… suck me… you’re sucking me…”
Monica slipped her mouth back up—just in time too, as she couldn’t fit anymore of his manhood in her mouth and she didn’t know if she could take such a thick invader in her throat—and kissed down the underside of his manhood until she reached his balls. “Did I hear you right?” she asked, chewing gently over the loose skin of his scrotum, then sucking a ball into her mouth to wash it ardently with her tongue. She spat it out again, a thin line of drool connecting its wet veneer to her lips. “I can suck you?”
Peter sat up, defeated. He put his hands on her narrow shoulders, arching her down to his member before he slipped his hands down to the perfumed mounds of her chest. “Yes. Oh shit, yes. Suck!”
Covering his hands with her own on her breasts, encouraging him to feel and squeeze them to his heart’s content, Monica kissed the tip of his cock. As Peter’s fumbling caresses of her tits became firmer, more exciting, Monica let her lips part and, her pleasure swelling, she fed his cock into her mouth.
Peter moaned with pleasure as her lips collared him, his cockhead like a jawbreaker in her mouth, Monica’s cheeks hollowing as she suckled lovingly on the mouthful he had given her. She only let his knob into her mouth at first, sucking and slipping her tongue around it, much as her fingers were entwining with Peter’s to pressure her breasts. But then she bobbed her head up and down, going a little bit lower with each drop as she stretched her jaws to the limit around Peter’s member. Her lips were spread wide, her cheeks pulled taut. Saliva poured down his shaft and her chin.
Desperate to get more of him into her mouth, down her throat, she twisted her head from side to side, trying to find a new angle that would let more of Peter in. His cockhead lodged in her throat, then was wedged into her gullet. Monica dug her fingers into Peter’s forearms, her nails drilling into the flesh, trying to relieve the pressure as she deepthroated him. Her lips sank all the way down to the base of his cock, her nose nestling in wiry pubic hairs that already smelled of woman—Shuri, you hot bitch—and her chin finding itself against his engorged balls.
Monica’s tongue kept working on him, flashing and flaring against what little it could reach of the member that stretched from deep in her throat to her outstretched lips. She slurped as she pulled herself back along his massive cock, her lips almost turning inside out. Her cheeks puffed and heaved like bellows. She was sucking as hard as she could, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm, trying to bring him to his climax, as desperate for his hot, thick load as she had been to be impaled on his manhood.
She could feel him throbbing now, pulsating, scalding drops of his precum falling in the back of her throat, his cum roiling in his balls. Monica pulled away until only his tip was still held by her exhausted mouth.
“Come,” she purred into his cockhead.
The word coursed down his shaft and hit his balls; Peter felt it more than heard it.
“Come,” she said again, closer to begging than not. “I want you to shoot in my mouth. I want to have a bellyful of your hot cum the next time I see T’Challa. I want him to see this face and know that it was impaled on your big cock. And most of all, I want to drink down your cum just because it tastes so… fucking… good!”
Peter groaned.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her steady as his hips jaggedly moved, fucking his cock into her mouth. And her head went down to meet him, engulfing all of his shaft so that he was buried to the hilt in her wide-open mouth.
His balls expanded so hard Monica could feel them stirring against her chin. She whimpered pleadingly around his throbbing manhood. Then she gurgled as he suddenly exploded with what felt like a bucketful of jism against the back of her throat. She sucked and sucked, the muscles of her throat working convulsively as she struggled to swallow the flood that was suddenly thick and warm in her mouth.
Peter slumped back against the desk, closing his eyes and just breathing as his cum shot out in droves to Monica’s greedily sucking mouth. He was beginning to think that he’d never stop coming. He shivered from the overwhelming release that he felt. Monica’s tongue fluttered deftly and her numb lips still managed to milk his spurting tool, cajoling him to fill her hot mouth again and again, as if he needed any further encouragement.
Monica focused her watering eyes on Peter’s face, contorted in pleasure, as he drenched her from her mouth to her belly with his thick cum. She wondered if this was the first time he’d shot in a girl’s mouth. Then she wondered if he had ever come inside a girl’s pussy—and how he would feel as he did.
When he’d finally finished, she raised her glowing face and purred, “Peter, you’re a darling, you know that? That was wonderful. Did you enjoy that as much as I did? Because I really enjoyed you coming in my mouth.” Her tongue licked at her cum-smeared lips.
Peter was speaking to her from orbit. “You… you swallowed it all…”
“Of course I did,” Monica said, sounding almost hurt that he would doubt it. “What else could I do with cum as sweet as yours?” She giggled and glanced down at his prick. It was still erect, but just barely. Still, Monica got the impression she wouldn’t wear herself out getting it up to its full hardness. “Remember me next time you’ve got a big load like that to… dispose of. T’Challa’s got a lot to make up to me for. And since you’re King of Wakanda, I guess that’s your job now, huh?”
She rose smoothly to her feet, licked her lips again, then wiped them with the back of her hand. When she left, Aneka and Ayo were waiting to escort her again.
“Cancel my lunch,” she told them. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
Comments
Nice, I am really liking this series.
