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Peter Parker: King of Wakanda update
🕑 Added 2018-01-28 17:16:32 +0000 UTCPeter’s first day at court was stressful, but that was mostly on him, he’d admit. In his current state, he couldn’t be at a food court without being stressed. But mostly he just had to play judge in private disputes. Judge Judy stuff--disagreements over land, cattle, property. No one asked him to cut a baby in half. He listened to the evidence, consulted his advisors, and tried not to rock the boat too much. It got almost tedious after a while; he started to wonder if T’Challa had stuck him with the busywork while he went clubbing or something.
Finally, exhausted mentally and twitchy physically, he threw himself through some simple parkour moves in his suite, blowing off steam. Somehow he doubted Wakanda had a lot of purse snatchers, or at least that they would appreciate having their substitute teacher hauling them down to the police station.
He’d just done a triple-axel flip when he heard someone clearing her throat.
He recognized Ramonda from earlier. She was T’Challa’s mom, or stepmom, since the woman barely looked older than he was. The body--all wide hips, bounteous breasts, and a mature but very slightly playful face--could’ve belonged to a twenty-year-old.
Peter tried to rein in his MILFy feelings. T’Challa was one of the few people, after all, who didn’t seem to think Aunt May was Playmate of the Month.
“Ramonda!” he gasped in surprise. “Mrs. Ramonda, I mean… what’re you doing here? I mean, it’s your palace, you can be here, sure, I’m not questioning that, but what, uh, are you specifically doing in this particular--”
“I am more than the Queen Mother,” Ramonda said. When she spoke, that playful Cool Mom vibe went right out the window. She sounded like she was performing Shakespeare. “I am the mother of all Wakanda. Especially of its king.”
“That’s cool,” Peter said. “Does that answer my question? Did that answer my question? I just--am I missing something?”
She sighed patiently. “It is Wakandan custom that a mother sleep in her son’s room until he is of age.”
Peter was agape. “T’Challa sleeps with his mommy?”
Ramonda stared at him a moment, soul-crushingly, before leavening it with a slight smile. “My son has passed the ritual affirming him a man. You have not. Thus, I will sleep in your room, my surrogate son.”
“Can I just take the ritual?”
“Would you like to be covered in ants three inches long for four hours?”
“No ritual, got it,” Peter said. “So, what, technically here I’m… a child?”
“I believe the term is boy-king.”
“Just because I’m not a beekeeper?”
“T’Challa will be back soon. It is not necessary for you to be a perfect king. Only to make sure nothing is on fire.” She walked up to Peter and laid a cool hand on his cheek. “I am an outsider too. Not Wakandan. T’Challa’s father took me, a foreigner, for his second wife, and he was greatly criticized for it. But if I can put up with this land’s… idiosyncrasies… you can do the same. For a few days.”
Peter scratched the back of his neck and thought of the Dora. “Did they make you the main character in a harem anime, though?”
***
Okoye was not happy.
She was rarely happy. Her happiness was tied to the king’s safety, and her king was rarely safe.
Now he had left her side altogether, on another of his secretive maneuverings, which she was now not even a part of. She was expected to guard some ringer T’Challa had staked out in his throne room for some inscrutable purpose of his own.
She let herself into the Parker boy’s bedchambers and saw, as she expected, Ramonda off to the side in her own bed. Parker slept in what should’ve been T’Challa’s bed, snoring gently.
Okoye approached Ramonda’s bed. “My queen.”
Ramonda was half-asleep. “It’s been a long time since you felt the need to guard the king.”
“That is not T’Challa,” Okoye replied, almost angrily--though a Dora was never truly angry except when her king was threatened.
“I am told he is a hero in his own right.”
Okoye sniffed derisively.
“Guard him, do not guard him,” Ramonda said. “Whatever assuages your feelings.”
“My feelings do not factor into it,” Okoye said.
“They never do,” Ramonda finished laconically, then rolled over to sleep.
Okoye made a face in the darkness, then went to stand at the foot of Parker’s bed. King or no king, she would guard him as if he were T’Challa himself. The Panther would see her devotion to even the idea of him.
It was a few hours into her vigil that she idly looked over Parker and saw a great fold in the sheets covering him. It could only be one thing--a snake creeping into his bed. She did not know if one had managed to creep into the palace in a one-in-a-million failing of the security systems, or if it had been planted there by one of the royal family’s enemies, but there was a definite presence between Parker’s legs. Unthinking, Okoye ripped the sheets away and saw--no snake, but a large erection stirring from Parker’s groin.
Okoye stood there. Parker continued to sleep. Ramonda continued to sleep. Parker wiggled about slightly, trying to get comfortable with his sheets suddenly torn away, and his manhood continued to erect itself. Okoye stared at it. Each time she thought it had gone as full and as hard and as big and as long as it could go, it became fuller and harder and bigger and longer.
What is he dreaming about? She wondered, before she thought that as his bodyguard, she had been the most continuous female presence in his day. Her pussy clenched at the idea.
This was ridiculous; she did not even know if he had some crush on her, but if he did, she wouldn’t indulge it. She picked the sheets up off the floor and was making to throw them back over Parker when she saw a pearl of glistening precum on the tip of his member, now fully eleven inches and as thick around as her wrist.
Okoye had thought, often, of how relentlessly T’Challa drove himself, how ascetic he rendered his existence, and how much lighter his soul would be if he just allowed himself pleasure, sexual pleasure. Okoye knew, traditionally, he’d be required to marry her if they ever indulged themselves that way, but she would never hold him to that. It could be their little secret.
But, if sex would be good for T’Challa, how much more so for this callow youth, unprepared and untested for the challenges ahead of him--probably already starting to crack?
It could not hurt, could it? Either of them…
In the silvery light before sunrise, she lay down between Peter’s splayed legs. She sniffed his cock--musky and masculine, as she never would’ve expected from his slender appearance. Her tongue worked its way out of her mouth and went to his cock, sliding over its veins, its flavor. Peter moaned, mumbling in his sleep as Okoye mouthed his cock. She saw his toes spread, then curl into little balls. Peter wiggled his hips under the assault of Okoye’s pleasure, and spiked himself up into her throat. He was mumbling in his sleep, a smile on his face.
Okoye could feel her pussy, tenderly sensitive against her panties, burning, aching. She couldn’t help herself from thinking of the engorged shaft of Peter’s member--a hardness of length and size that she was learning intimately, practically committing to memory--and how it would feel in her cunt. She imagined with great pleasure the slapping of his oversized balls against her ass, and tried to feel what it would be like to have him ejaculate inside her, lathering up her passage with his warm cream. She could not even imagine; she had never gotten that from a dildo. But she could at least learn how it felt in her mouth, her throat...
Okoye gripped the base of his shaft in her hand as she bobbed her head up and down on it. His cockhead pushed into her throat, a challenge to gulp down, but she sucked his thick, lusty cock all the way to the balls.
“Uhm… ohhhh!” Peter arched up, his toes curling hard as he surged into Okoye’s throat. His eyes shot open, then rolled back in his head. His cum spurted into Okoye’s stomach in thick, satisfying globs.
Okoye moaned softly as she sucked, her hunger satisfied. Her tongue churned at Peter’s cockhead, her lips smacking, and he fed her thick spurt after thick spurt, almost a dozen before he fell back with a sigh. Okoye was still milking his jism out of him when he relaxed into a snore.
Peter probably wouldn’t even remember the blowjob when he finally woke. His cock would remember it though--or so Okoye liked to imagine. His cock would know who had made it feel so good.
She kissed his cock, each ball, then the wiry harshness of his pubic hair. Reaching down into her pants, she felt her pussy and was barely surprised to find herself damp. She wetted her fingers and, with as light a touch as possible, rubbed them below Peter’s nose and along his lips. His nostrils flared and his lips smacked. She saw his cock flare to a full erection once more. Okoye backed away from it, a little intimidated. How many times could that… happen? It already felt like she’d eaten a full meal, just from swallowing instead of spitting.
She would have to tell the others about this.
